


First Time For Everything

by admiralty



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Caught, Developing Relationship, Episode: s07e17 All Things, Episode: s07e18 Brand X, Episode: s07e18 Requiem, Episode: s07e19 Hollywood A.D., Episode: s07e20 Fight Club, Episode: s07e21 Je Souhaite, Episode: s08e11 The Gift, Episode: s09e19-20 The Truth, Episode: s11e03 Plus One, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Handcuffs, Happy Ending, Love, Lust, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Post-Break Up, Post-Episode: s07e17 All Things, Post-Episode: s07e19 Hollywood A.D., Post-Episode: s07e20 Fight Club, Post-Episode: s07e21 Je Souhaite, Post-Episode: s08e21 Existence, Post-Episode: s11e03 Plus One, Post-Episode: s11e09 Nothing Lasts Forever, Pre-The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Romance, Smut, The Unremarkable House (X-Files)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 118,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralty/pseuds/admiralty
Summary: Mulder and Scully experience some "firsts" in their ever evolving relationship. This story begins in their late S7 just-started-fucking days and continues throughout the revival. Not gonna lie, it’s mostly sex, but I love MSR angst so there’s a fair amount here.This is definitely the smuttiest stuff I've ever written. First time for everything, indeed. ;)As a side-note, when I began this story I had no idea it would snowball into what it eventually became. All my work exists within the same canon-compliant universe, and since I'd already writtenMulder and Scully's first timein my story Culmination, I didn't want to repeat myself, which is why I began here with the morning after :)This story runs in tandem withCulminationandThis Woman's Work. I'll link to the chapters relevant in each chapter, reading these is beneficial (although not necessary) to completing the story.





	1. First Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place post- all things. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading, feedback is always welcomed! :)

**all things**

**(2000)**

 

_Jesus Christ, that was fantastic._

It’s his first conscious thought as he wakes, light just barely beginning to come in through the window. He knows where he is, what happened last night, all of it with certainty and conviction. It was exactly what he’d wanted for years.

He knows she must be here too, right next to him. His hand moves slowly to his side and he slides it along the warm sheet towards her, slowly, slowly, anticipating bumping into soft skin that he now has permission to touch.

But the sheet turns cold and he’s extended his arm out entirely before he realizes she isn’t here, after all. He is alone, as usual.

He turns so he can believe his own eyes and sure enough, Scully is not here. Did he dream it all?

 _Oh god,_ he thinks as he flops back onto his pillow. None of it actually happened. He’s probably just still jet lagged, off kilter. It had just been one more fantasy, one more lie; to himself, to her, to them.

He knows she’s probably still out on his couch, still asleep, her snoozing, fully clothed body verifiable proof that none of it had been real.

He pushes the sheets back and sits up. He just needs to round the corner and look. If she’s still there, it was all a dream. If she isn’t… well, first things first. He throws his legs over the side of the bed and realizes he is completely naked.

_Well, that’s interesting._

Mulder does not sleep naked. It’s the first real clue that he had, in fact, had sex with Scully last night, right here in his bed. A flutter enters his stomach and he wants to believe it.

He stands and walks slowly towards the door, peers around the corner and sees no one. Nothing. Just his hastily discarded Navajo blanket, the one he’d laid over her gently so as not to wake her, the one she must have thrown off in her urgency to get to him, to have him all to herself at last.

His early morning haze is starting to fade, and he can now believe it was in fact all real, it had actually happened, they had finally, _finally,_ taken that step towards the intimacy he craved.

So why isn’t she here, then? Why did she leave? Why hadn’t she crawled into his arms last night and made her home there, stayed with him until they absolutely had to part?

He knows she loves him, he knows it. She admitted as much in her thoughts months ago, back during his mind-reading stint. He could call her up and tell her he loves her, and maybe then she’d say it, maybe then she would tell him. Maybe then he can hear the words he’s wanted to hear her say for a long time.

But it doesn’t seem fair; he cheated. He shouldn’t know she loves him, but he knows. And he shouldn’t be so lucky to have her loving him at all. So he feels stuck.

He isn’t sure how she’s feeling right now. She _did_ decide to leave in the middle of the night, after all. After they’d finished, he told her how amazing it had been for him, how long he’d wanted it. She had said nothing, but he was confident she had a pretty fucking good time too. He’d never heard her scream his name out like that before and he couldn’t wait to see if he could make her do it again. Dana Katherine Scully, screaming out his name in ecstasy, a truth he thought he might never realize but found nonetheless. It felt like a hard-earned prize, one he’d happily compete for over and over.

Most likely, she got spooked. He knows her so well. That’s his Scully. Spooked by Spooky Mulder and her spooky feelings. He shakes his head and laughs softly to himself, everything making so much sense now, at least to him.

“Let’s just see where this goes, shall we?” he says into his empty apartment. She isn’t here, but he can still sense her, still feel her; running his hands through her hair, tasting her lips like he hadn’t had a meal in weeks. Sliding slowly into her like a goddamn exclamation point on a sentence they finally finished. Completion. Trust.

Truth.

He stands at his bedroom door, naked, and thinks of her in this exact spot last night, how she said his name and ran to him like she couldn’t wait another second and as he starts to relive it all he can feel himself getting hard again.

How is he going to work today? X Files? What fucking X Files? He can’t even think about that right now. It’s so unlike him. Burying himself in his work has been the thing he’s needed to do all these years to keep him from thinking about how much he wanted her. Now he won’t be able to focus because all he can think about is how last night she wanted him.

Shower first, he thinks. One thing at a time. Shower, clothes, coffee, breakfast, car, then work.

Then Scully.

He turns the shower on and gets in. What’s it going to be like when they see each other again? What is he going to say to her? Will she be happy to see him? Will it be awkward? Will she pretend it never happened? Shit, will she even show up today?

He briefly panics, thinking how easy it would be for her to do that, to just call in sick or something. Avoid the entire situation. It would be _so Scully_ to do something like that. In this moment, he decides not to let her. If and when he sees her next, he will not allow this to get swept under the rug. They have come too far now.

Whatever they become moving forward, he knows the truth now: there is no going back.

 

***

 

_Nope, it hadn’t been a dream._

It really was as amazing as he remembered.

He'd asked her to go home with him after work, and she'd agreed. They hadn't made it out of the office. Now they lay sprawled across the floor of the office on their backs, half clothed, but fully spent. He can hear her breathing heavily. He doesn’t want to move but his ass is cold against the floor so he pulls his boxers on and flops back down. Her skirt is still on, but that’s pretty much it.

“Is it really possible we can be so good at this, Mulder?” she says. “You and I are not this lucky.”

He laughs. “Let’s just go with it, Scully. We’ve earned it, trust me.”

“Our poor office, we’ve defiled it,” she points out. “It has _seen_ things.”

“It certainly has, now.” The X Files office has been christened with Scully, as it should be. He can't help but think of Diana Fowley and how she’d never have gone for this kind of thing. Years they’d been together and it had never happened in the office with her. He can’t describe the relief he feels in this moment at that particular truth. He wouldn’t want that to be something hanging over his head, something Scully might always wonder about. Talking, even thinking about Diana anymore seems pointless.

Scully had been incredible. He knew she was, but tonight had been different. Once she was comfortable and ready to get there she _got there_ with him, her movements skilled, her face flushed and her eyes dark with the love for him that he knew was there, even if she would not reveal it.

He’s only just scratching the surface but he’s learning she has hidden depths; an ocean of knowledge to seek and he wants to drown in it. He would drown in her for the rest of his life if he could, making discovery after discovery, knowing there will always be more, always something new to find. Searching is what he does.

He thought he knew her before. He doesn’t know shit.

“We probably shouldn’t let this happen again,” he says. “In the office, I mean.”

She scoots her body next to his so her head is resting on his bicep, and he curves his hand inward to play with her hair a bit. She looks at him and smiles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I was the one who said that. About twenty minutes ago.”

“Sorry, I was listening. I just really wanted to get laid.”

She laughs and grabs ahold of his tie, still securely tied around his neck. Besides his socks and his boxers, it’s the only thing he’s wearing.

“Honestly, Mulder,” she whispers into his ear. “Do you think there are cameras in here?”

“Of course there are cameras in here. The question is, who the hell is watching?”

She reaches for the closest article of clothing she can find, his shirt, and covers her chest with it. He knows it’s because of the cameras, but he finds it humorous she’s being so demure after the things they’ve already done.

“I’ve never been so thrilled that no one upstairs cares about what we’re doing down here,” she tells him.

He nods. “There are perks to being the FBI’s most unwanted. And I’m referring to myself, not you.” He leans over and kisses her nose. It seems strange to have done it; such an intimate kind of kiss, but it feels so natural.

“You’re definitely not unwanted, Mulder,” she says as she runs her fingers over his bare chest. “You’re very, _very_ , wanted, in fact.” She props herself up onto one elbow and before he’s even recovered from the last time her lips are on his again, her tongue seeking his, her other hand softly stroking his cheek.

He’s not ready to go again quite yet, but clearly she is. Her tongue wages battle with his, a battle he doesn’t mind losing if she’s the one winning. She moves her leg over his and gently pulls her knee upward so it’s flush against him. He anticipates she’s about to straddle him but he decides he only wants to please her right here, right now, surveillance cameras be damned.

“Get on the desk, Scully,” he commands through her kisses. She pulls back.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he growls, and he grabs her hips with his hands and starts to sit up. She gets up too and moves towards his desk, dropping his shirt to the floor. Soon she’s backed up against it and her arms are around his neck, his hands still holding her hips.

He lifts her up onto the desk and then kisses her again, holding his hand behind her head, pushing her backwards and laying her head down delicately until she’s laying flat on the desk with her legs dangling off.

“Mulder…” she says, a bit apprehensive, but he knows once he begins she will stop questioning, stop thinking. He’s good at this. And he’s going to fucking love doing it to her.

He pushes her skirt up and kneels down, no clue where her previously discarded panties are.They certainly aren’t here right now and he’s fine with that because it gets his face where he wants it even faster. He goes to work, first softly teasing her with his tongue, but she shivers and moans _ohmygodmulder_ and then it’s all over. He flicks and delves and it’s heaven for every one of his senses. He thinks _I’m tasting Scully, finally,_ and even though it’s the first time he feels like he’s been doing this forever.

She cries out his name again and he will never, ever get tired of hearing it this way. She curls her legs around his neck and squeezes so hard he worries she might actually strangle him with her muscular calves. He honestly wouldn’t mind dying with his face between Dana Scully’s thighs; he actually can’t think of a better place to die. He thinks of what Clyde Bruckman said to him years ago and hopes he’d been only half-right in his prediction.

He doesn’t die, thankfully, but after only a couple minutes go by, he isn’t close to done but she already seems to be. She is slapping the desk with her hand and the noises he’s hearing come out of her are the best sounds he’s ever heard. He doesn’t want her to finish, not yet, he wants to live down here for a while, enjoying her taste and her scent and all the Scullyness he’s never gotten the pleasure to experience so he pulls back and softly kisses the inside of her thighs instead.

“Mulder, you fuck, what are you doing?” she asks, lifting her head, and she sounds a little pissed.  “Don’t stop!” He wants to laugh at her abruptness but then he realizes moving his mouth away was probably not the best idea.

He does what she asks, suspecting he’ll probably get to do this again at some point, and right now he should just make her come hard and fast because it’s clearly what she wants. He never denies her anything.

The closer she gets the tighter her calves grip, the louder she pounds the desk with her fist and he hears his name again and again and he cannot imagine life getting better than it is right now. At last, with one final _“oh my god, Muuulllddeeerrrrr…”_ she reaches her peak and falls over the edge, shuddering, her body wracked with pleasure. It’s definitely the hardest he’s seen her come so far and her arms flail wildly, his poor alien mug getting thrown off his desk for the second time today, shattering for good.

He pulls her skirt back down as she relaxes and he slowly stands, kissing her stomach, up her torso to her neck. He lays his head on her chest so he can hear her heart pounding, which he commits to his eidetic memory as he closes his eyes. He then kisses her mouth in earnest, tasting her arousal again as she kisses him back, both her hands on his face. She wraps her legs around him and he can feel her shaking. After a moment she pulls away and he leans back a bit.

“I’m sorry about your mug,” she says softly, and before he can even decide if she’s kidding or not, she is crying.

“Scully? Hey, Scully, fuck the mug,” he laughs. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, turning her head away. “Nothing, nothing is wrong, I’m sorry…”

“Scully, look at me,” he says. She does. “Why are you crying?”

“I needed this so badly, Mulder,” she says through her tears. “It’s embarrassing to be this grateful but I am, I needed this. Thank you.”

 _You and me both,_ he thinks. He smiles and gently combs his fingers through her fiery hair.

“Thank _you,”_ he replies, and kisses her once more. Her hands go to the back of his neck and thread through the soft hair at his nape, which he loves so much. For some reason when she touches that spot it feels like the world could stop and he wouldn’t care.

He has her, now. They have each other. Finally. Each time he’s with her it feels like he’s slowly exhaling a breath he’s been holding in for seven years.

“Can I still take you up on your offer to go home with you?” she asks him.

She’s laying on his desk, in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, looking into his eyes in a way that has never failed to disarm him. He fucking loves her. He doesn’t want her going anywhere else tonight.

“That offer will always stand, Scully.”

 


	2. First Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She clings to his neck and they look into each other’s eyes and even though neither of them are saying it out loud, neither of them are admitting it, they are making love, the way he knows they’ve always been meant to, the way he knows they always will be meant to.

**all things**

**(2000)**

 

They make it out of the Hoover building together unobserved, the lateness of the hour certainly helpful. She drives her own car but he has a sneaking suspicion it’s only because she’s worried being alone in his car together would make it more difficult to arrive in one piece. He beats her there, probably driving too fast but he’s weirdly concerned about making sure he hadn’t left his apartment unsightly. He knows she won’t really care, but it feels important. He wants her to be comfortable.

Truth be told, he wants her to spend the night this time.

Luckily, the apartment is fairly clean. He picks up his bath towel from the floor and hangs it up, quickly makes the bed and waits. She knocks, which is cute, considering she has a key and they both know exactly what she’s here for. But he plays along.

“Who is it?” he calls.

“Housekeeping,” he hears, and grins. He goes to let her in.

“I didn’t ask for housekeeping, I’m sorry,” he says to her through the narrow opening of the door.

“Oh, okay,” she says. “I’ll just be going, then.”

He slams the door and quickly unlocks the chain, opening it again. The patented Scully Eyebrow is at full attention, but it’s accompanied by a grin. He takes her hand and pulls her inside, closing the door behind her and capturing her lips in his. He can’t get enough, he will never get enough of her.

After a few minutes of just enjoying the feel of his lips on hers, a feeling he still can’t quite believe he’s allowed to feel at all, she steps away from him and they regard each other.

“What is this, Mulder?”

She asks it quietly. She suddenly looks shy, unsure of herself. It’s an abrupt change from the Scully at their office, the Scully last night. He isn’t sure what to say.

He wants to tell her the truth. _This is love, Scully. This is you and me, together, finally._ But he can’t. Why can’t he say it? Why does this have to be so goddamn hard?

This isn’t a normal situation. They’ve been together over seven years without having taken this leap. They live dangerous lives. They talk about everything under the sun, they place their trust in one another every day, all without fear or hesitation.

But this part? The part where they have to communicate their feelings to each other? This part is entirely new. He’s learning to do this just like she is. Why is this so fucking scary?

He knows they love each other. So why can’t they just say it?

“This… is amazing, is what it is,” he answers.

His answer seems to please her, at least for now. So for right now, this is all they will say. There will be no more discussion on this particular matter. Her eyes soften and she takes his hand, leading him into his bedroom.

She pushes him down gently, so he is sitting on the edge of the bed. Suddenly he's nervous; here they are, in his bedroom, poised to do this again. Not in the dark, not without words; but premeditated. She unbuttons her shirt, slowly, never taking her eyes off his. He goes to help her but she bats his hands away and shakes her head.

She shimmies out of her skirt until she is standing in front of him, a vision in black lingerie, and he wants to touch her so badly his fingers feel physically hot. But he waits because it seems like she’s doing a thing, and he wants to know what it is.

“I want you to look at me, Mulder,” she says.

 _Uh, check,_ he thinks. He’s not sure where she’s going with this. “Okay.”

She sighs. “This is me when we’re off the clock. I don’t want this to be the me you see while we’re working.”

He gets it, he thinks. “Okay.”

“Whatever this is,” she gestures between them, “I’d really like to keep it going. But I’d also really like our partnership to continue to be successful. It’s important to me, and I know it’s important to you.”

“It is,” he agrees. 

“So… when we’re at work, we are at work. Okay?”

For the first time he thinks he understands how difficult it must be for Scully as a professional woman, wondering if she’s being taken seriously by men, many of them just animals who can’t achieve even that simple task. He’s always respected her, always taken her seriously, regardless of the times he’s thought about her naked. It suddenly occurs to him she may not realize that.

Glad they’re at least getting this out of the way, he nods in understanding. “Can I say something?’

“Of course,” she laughs.

“I want you to know you don’t have to worry about that, ever, Scully. Not with me.” He’s serious. He knows this is important to her. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I’ve always thought so. But I’ve never let that cloud my judgment when we’re on a case. And I’ll be sure to never make you feel that way.”

She nods, smiling. “I know you won’t, Mulder. I trust you.”

He smiles back. “Can I touch you now?”

“Yes, please,” she replies, and she pushes him back, crawling on top of him. He cups her ass and pulls her towards him a bit. She holds him down by his shoulders and brings her face down, close to his ear. “I think you’re going to find there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mulder.”

“I can see that, Scully, and I think I’m going to enjoy it,” he says.

He can feel her breath on his cheek as her tongue starts slowly moving around his earlobe and he closes his eyes, willing himself to make this last as long as possible. _Goddamn._

She sits up a bit and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Move back," she says, gesturing for him to scoot further back onto the bed. He does.

“Take this off,” she commands. He does, lifting his body up just enough to get his arms out of the sleeves, then falls back down, seemingly awaiting orders. He starts to wonder if this is what it’s going to be like; Scully bossing him around in the bedroom. He’s definitely okay with it.

She starts unbuckling his belt and then all of this speculation is rendered immediately moot when he realizes what she’s doing. She’s removing his pants, she’s removing his boxers. She’s bending down, her mouth hovering over him.

She’s returning the favor.

_Holy fuck._

He’s still physically reeling from the way her mouth felt on his own, he wasn’t even ready for this. But it’s happening.

Her mouth is around him and it feels unbelievable but he’s having a hard time focusing on any of it because the mere notion that _Special Agent Dana Scully is blowing him right now_ has thrown his mind into absolute overdrive. He can’t think, he can’t speak, he can’t form any kind of coherent thought, as much as he’d like to.

He lets her do her thing for a while, eyes closed, feeling those lips he loves so much actually wrapped around him. He’s enjoying the hell out of it but he doesn’t want to finish like this, not tonight, not when he has her in his bed and wants her to stay here.

“S- Scully-” he manages to get her name out. It’s a goddamn miracle.

“Just relax, Mulder,” he hears after a moment.

“No, I want… come here, please,” he says. Her face comes into view and as incredible as he’s feeling he just wants to be inside her, he wants her to feel as good as he does right now. He flips her over onto her back and she gasps as he kisses her fiercely, her hands going to the back of his neck, his favorite spot.

He lets his fingers travel down her body, her flat stomach, her belly button, until they find their destination, curling up inside her. Her gasps become more intense as she clings to his shoulders, her fingernails scratching his back. He can feel that she’s completely ready for him and he loves the idea that pleasing him pleased her so much.

“Mulder!” she gasps. “It… it was your turn.”

“Maybe now you can appreciate how much fun it is to break the rules, Scully,” he grins, his fingers doing the walking. He’s enjoying teasing her, quite a lot, but he’s not going to last much longer and decides to stop fucking around.

More quickly than he thought possible he slides her panties all the way off and hovers over her, looking deeply into her eyes, ready to lose himself in them yet again. She returns his gaze and smiles, her eyebrow arching in that way that drives him crazy. He can’t wait anymore and he knows she can’t either so he buries himself inside her as deeply as he can, and he watches her as she cries out, this new sound he's so lucky to hear, this sound he loves most. He moves within her, slowly at first, wanting to savor every moment that he gets to do this; him, Mulder, the luckiest man on the planet to get to do this with her. But soon he is picking up speed, encouraged by her moaning. She clings to his neck and they look into each other’s eyes and even though neither of them are saying it out loud, neither of them are admitting it, they are making love, the way he knows they’ve always been meant to, the way he knows they always will be meant to.

She can’t stop saying his name, and he can’t stop saying hers, and the room is full of “Mulders” and “Scullys” bouncing all around the walls and to him it’s a symphony of truth he can hear, he can feel, he can see. As if this act was designed simply for the two of them to partake in it.

 _I love you, Scully,_ he thinks, but does not say it.

 _I love you so much, Scully,_ he thinks, but does not say it.

 _I love you more than anything, Scully,_ he thinks, and just as he thinks he might actually say it out loud they are both careening over the edge together, her screaming out his name so loud he’s certain the neighbors are aware it’s not just him and his porn habit tonight.

He rolls off her but she follows him, keeping them connected, snuggling her little body on top of his large one like a reverse nesting doll.

“Don’t move yet,” she says. She is drenched in sweat and panting. “I want to stay like this for a little bit. I love… this part.”

He wraps his arms around her and does what she asks. She’s not wrong, he thinks. There’s something magical about the afterglow. And it’s even better with her.

After a couple minutes she releases him and goes towards his bathroom, calling back over her shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep on me now, okay?”

He chuckles and waits for her. After a few minutes she returns and looks at him expectantly. He props himself up onto his elbow, not really sure what she’s doing.

“You okay?” He can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yeah, I’m great.” She starts looking for her clothes and pulling them on.

“Scully, what are you doing?”

She looks at him. “Getting dressed.”

“...Why?” He’s genuinely confused. Does she need him to ask her to stay?

“Do- do you want me to stay?”

“Of course I want you to stay,” he replies. “Why wouldn’t I want you to stay? It’s almost midnight.”

He regrets the last part of the sentence instantly. _I want you to stay because I love you_ would have been the right thing to say.

He notices relief cross her face and while he’s happy she’s relieved, he’s unhappy she thought she had to leave in the first place. Maybe this isn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. Maybe she is going to do everything she can to keep these boundaries between them in place. He realizes this is going to be just as tricky as any other relationship he might start.

This is new, all of it, and it’s going to take some adjustment. But he wants this, he wants her. He knows she loves him, but what he doesn’t know is exactly what kind of arrangement she wants right now. They won’t know until they talk about it and he’s just too chicken shit to do that.

She drops her clothes and gets back into his bed, snuggling into his arms. “I don’t sleep naked, Mulder.”

“You do now,” he decides.

She laughs and he holds her and as they both drift off to sleep, at least for right now, it feels like home.

 


	3. First Fraternization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skinner's mind leaps to a half dozen possibilities in an instant but he knows none of them are the truth. He knows the truth, he’s known the truth for a long time.
> 
> She’s probably just fucking Mulder.

**Brand X**

**(2000)**

 

It’s the first time she’s awakened in his arms like this and she lets it in. He’s still asleep, and she watches him for a minute, his breathing steady and calm. He looks vulnerable and soft, not the Mulder she’s used to seeing every day, and certainly not the Mulder who made her feel the way she felt with him last night.

It's nice to be able to reflect on the events of the past 24 hours or so while in this state of contentment. Everything has moved so fast for the two of them, and while it's a welcome change after seven years, it feels good to slow down for a moment. His hand is on her waist and his head is right next to hers, as if they fell asleep this way and never moved. She’s typically a mover in bed. It strikes her that she’s never felt so comfortable before.

She studies his bedroom, this room she’s only been in a handful of times. It’s surprisingly devoid of too much personality, as if he’s reserved the bits and pieces of his inner world for his office. As if his work life is the part of him that is truly alive. There are no activities in this room that bring him joy other than sleep.

 _Until now_ , she thinks with a smile.

“Good morning,” she hears in her ear. She turns to look at him and he’s already kissing her. It gives her butterflies but she pulls away.

“Morning. I have to brush my teeth first.” She’s suddenly aware she doesn’t have a toothbrush at his apartment and can’t make good on this assertion.

“Go ahead, I have a pile of them in the bottom drawer in the bathroom.”

It’s strange how this feels so… _normal,_ so mundane. As if they weren’t just fighting about her nearly getting killed on a road trip with the cancer man. As if she hadn’t fairly recently shot and killed Donnie Pfaster after being attacked in her home. As if Mulder hadn’t finally completed his search for his long lost sister. They’re just… lying here, in each other’s arms, living life.

“You have a pile of toothbrushes?” she grins. “What, for all the women you have spending the night all the time, Mulder?”

“Ha, ha. No. I’m very good about going to the dentist, Scully. They pile up.”

She can’t help herself and rolls over onto him, softly kissing his neck, safe from any possible morning breath. His hands go to her back and he groans, his hardness already apparent against her leg. She just wants to hold him for a while, though, so she lays her head on his chest with her arms squeezing his torso.

“I can’t believe we waited this long to do this,” she says. She knows it’s risky but she has to say it. She’s just so happy here with him in his bed. Everything feels right.

He kisses the top of her head and holds her tight, and she can hear his heart pounding in his chest loudly. She wonders why; they just woke up. Nothing can really account for it. It occurs to her that maybe he’s nervous about something, or uncomfortable. Maybe she said the wrong thing. Maybe she should walk it back.

“Sometimes nothing happens for a reason,” he replies. She smiles at his repetition of what she said to him only a couple days ago, and although she isn’t quite sure what that reason is at the moment, he could be right.

The sound of Mulder’s phone ringing from somewhere pierces their happy bubble. She moves to let him up and he sits, scratching his head. He gets out of bed and looks around, trying to locate the source.

“Shit, where is it?” He starts picking up pieces of discarded clothing and checking the pockets. Scully sits up, holding the sheet to her chest.

“Hallway, in your jacket, I think.” She remembers tearing it off him as soon as he pulled her in the door last night. He grins and tilts his head, running to get it.

“Mulder,” he greets his cell phone.

She watches him in the entryway while he holds the phone to his ear. She wants to laugh at the stark contrast to how he usually answers his phone, fully clothed and somewhat professional. Right now he’s completely naked but wearing his FBI face, and speaking in his FBI voice. It’s so adorable and she feels lucky she gets to see it.

“Okay, sir. We’ll be there as soon as we can…. 7:40, you said? … Okay… No, sir, I’ll tell her. I mean, I’ll-I’ll call her.” He looks pointedly at Scully and hangs up the phone. “That was AD Skinner. New case, in North Carolina.”

“Did you say the flight’s at 7:40?” She looks at his bedside clock. “Jesus, Mulder, it’s 5:15, I don’t have any clothes here but the ones in my go bag.”

He shrugs. “Well, that’s… why they call it a go bag. We gotta go. I’m gonna take a shower.” Without another word, he tosses his phone onto the bed and heads into the bathroom.

For a moment she sits there, a slow wave of disappointment crashing over her. Work time. He seems so distant already. Was her little speech last night the cause of this, or will it always be work first with him? She understands, has always understood that his work is his life. She doesn’t expect that to change. But will this part of his life, the part where they get to be normal with each other, ever come first?

She sighs and flops back down onto the bed. She should probably just grab her shit and go home quickly to change and pack. Better to switch into work mode sooner rather than later. She can’t show up to meet with Skinner smelling like Mulder and sex. That’s the last thing she needs.

She hears the shower turn on, and just when she’s decided to make a quiet exit while he’s in there, he pops his head out, steam surrounding it.

“You coming in, or what?” he smiles, a bit wickedly.

She smiles back and nods. She hops out of bed and he reaches his hand out to take hers, leading her into the shower.

_This is going to be an interesting day._

 

***

 

Yesterday was impossible, sitting inches away from Mulder in the office trying to focus on paperwork while imagining his hands all over her. Today has been different, however. In the autopsy bay, with a dead body in front of her, and one as intriguing as this one is, Scully is in her element. She can push those thoughts aside.

Mulder makes good on his promise, to a fault, even. He barely casts a glance her way from the moment they exit the rental car to the moment Skinner releases her to autopsy the victim. Professional mode, indeed.

It’s what she asked him for. She isn’t upset. The work is important stuff.

But she’s glad Skinner is along on this assignment, creating a nice buffer between them. It feels as if the universe has thrown them this particular case by design. The heated looks they usually throw at each other had been previously unrealized. Now, every time their eyes do meet, averting them seems to be the best option.

She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, obviously, and the day has been long and exhausting. She’s in her pajamas and just about ready to get into bed, but something feels… off. Mulder is right next door. She knows it would be a mistake to go over there. It was she who made the point that Work Scully is separate from Play Scully. But it’s their first assignment since their relationship changed, and doesn’t that mean other things have changed?

Typically, the second they said goodnight and that motel room door closed she wouldn’t see him again until the morning, at least not counting the times she saw him in her mind while giving herself the release she needed to function properly the next day.

It’s different now. She has permission to see him, to touch him, to be with him. She’s pretty certain the only reason she isn’t wrapped around him in his bed right now is because he’s respecting the boundaries she herself laid out. She really doesn’t want to make fraternizing while on assignment a “thing.” It can only lead to trouble. She knows this logically, in her brain.

But her heart, and her other places, are telling her _maybe just this once. Take the edge off. Then never again._ She grapples with this decision in her mind for several minutes, then finally decides.

_Fuck it. We deserve this._

She picks up the phone and is about to dial when she hears a knock at the door. Slamming the phone down, she smiles and tries not to run to the door, knowing who it must be. She sees him through the peephole and there are no rational thoughts in her brain anymore whatsoever. He’s awakened something inside of her that has lain long dormant. It’s going to be awhile until this feeling goes away.

She unlocks the chain and throws the door open, and the only thing she wants is him, inside her, right now. She grabs him by the tie and pulls him into the room, slamming the door behind him.

He obviously came for the same reason because the intensity with which he’s kissing her is only matched by the intensity of his raging hard-on. She laughs into his mouth, so happy he’s here, and casts all thoughts of tobacco beetles and whistleblowers and corned-beef lungs from her mind because right now they are off the clock and she wants him more badly than she should have a right to.

“Scully, this is… surprising,” he’s able to get out as she kisses him. “I thought you were some kind of goody two-shoes Miss Rulebook.”

“I am, typically,” she replies, as she starts unbuttoning his shirt, flipping his tie over his shoulder. “But not tonight.”

He laughs and they fumble with each other’s clothing, both pretending like this is something they’ve been doing for much longer than they actually have. His shirt comes off, then his pants. He slips her silky pajamas over her shoulders as she removes her bottoms and he appears pleasantly surprised she’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath. She can’t believe how intense her need is right now, considering how long she’s gone without, but then deduces that is precisely the reason for it.

They fall onto the bed, a writhing mass of flesh and sweat. She breathes him in heavily as his mouth travels along her neck; she can tell he hasn’t showered tonight and she’s so, so grateful he hasn’t. She loves the way he smells. He sucks on her earlobes, and she grabs fistfuls of his hair and pulls roughly. For some reason each time feels new and different, and tonight it’s going to be hard and fast.

She’s about to reach for him, to get this show on the road, when he suddenly utters “Skinner is just down the hall, Scully.”

She stops and tries to keep her expression from switching to annoyed. “Mulder. _You_ came over _here_.”

He nods vehemently. “I did, yes, I did. I want this. I’m just… trying to be smart. We both know we shouldn’t be doing this on a case.”

She leans up and whispers into his ear. “Then let’s be quick about it, Mulder.”

He nods again. “Right. Mission accepted.”

She’s not sure what he’s so worried about; Skinner has never once come knocking on her door after hours on the very few assignments he’s joined them on. Besides, from the state of both their arousals she knows this won’t last very long anyway. She doesn’t mind at all. If they keep this up, it will probably take awhile for them both to get seven years of unfulfilled desires out of their systems before figuring out a way to go slow.

He kisses her again, his tongue sliding around like it’s searching her mouth for something. She wraps her legs around him and arches her body closer to his. She’s so ready she could scream, so she practically does.

“Now, Mulder!” she commands. She barely has time to appreciate how obedient the man can be before he’s filled her completely and her eyes feel like they are going to roll backwards into her skull.

 _This is going to be over so fast and I don’t even care,_ she thinks.

She’s not wrong, and after just a few seconds she can feel her orgasm start to build. Her moans of pleasure must be getting loud because Mulder stops her with his mouth. She’s pretty sure he wants to shush her but won’t, because he’s a gentleman, and he’s probably right that she should be quiet so she holds his face and their tongues dance as she rides the wave of her release.

She’s trying really hard to be quiet but cannot stop his name from ripping free from her larynx; the knowledge of what he, Mulder, can do to her is an uncontainable source of pleasure. He reaches his climax soon after, responding in kind, and this motel room in Winston-Salem, North Carolina becomes the first motel room to have the distinct luxury of hearing Agents Mulder and Scully yelling out each others’ names in ecstasy.

 

***

 

It’s pretty late, but Walter Skinner is restless. It’s his fault Dr. Scobie is dead, it was his responsibility to keep him alive. He knows this kind of thing can happen, but the guilt he’s feeling is palpable. He tosses and turns, sleep is elusive. He switches on the light and rolls out of bed. A walk. Maybe he just needs a walk.

He throws on some clothes, tucks his weapon into the back of his pants, and exits the motel room. He doesn’t really care which direction he heads, but he knows he needs to blow off some steam. He’s walking for only a short while when he hears it.

_“Oh, god… Mulder!”_

For a second he can’t process what he’s hearing. He recognizes the name, obviously. Agent Mulder. And he thinks he recognizes the voice. Agent Scully.

What he doesn’t recognize is the _way_ her voice sounds.

He draws his gun instinctively, thinking it’s perfectly possible she’s in trouble somehow. Maybe she’s being attacked in her room. Maybe she’s somewhere out in the parking lot, even. His mind leaps to a half dozen possibilities in an instant but he knows none of them are the truth. He knows the truth, he’s known the truth for a long time.

She’s probably just fucking Mulder.

Eager to satisfy his curiosity, he scampers softly down the hall toward the noise and as he passes Scully’s room he hears the unmistakable voice of Mulder yelling out her name as well in a way he can now recognize, and he wants to laugh because it’s all just so fucking hilarious. He was bound to discover this at some point, he’s just amazed it’s taken this long.

He doesn’t want to intrude on their privacy, or feel like some kind of pervert, but he does want to be sure he’s hearing exactly what he’s hearing. So he quietly slips past Agent Scully’s room to Mulder’s, right next door. He knocks softly and waits a minute… nothing.

Yep. They’re definitely both in her room.

He laughs quietly and rolls his eyes as he passes her room once more to head back to his. He feels a strange sense of triumph that he’s finally proven his own little theory. These two have been inseparable for years and have not once let slip the fact that they’d been doing a little off-campus recreation. He’s impressed, in spite of himself.

They aren’t breaking any rules, necessarily, although the taxpayers probably wouldn't appreciate paying for an unused motel room. He shrugs and smiles to himself as he re-enters his own room, happy to be distracted from his own troubles even for a moment. Happy for the two of them.

 

***

 

Scully rolls away from him and they both lay there, sated. After a couple minutes Mulder starts laughing to himself.

“What’s funny?” she asks, rolling onto her side to look at him.

“I was just trying to figure out how a tobacco beetle could murder a person and I realized I’m actually thinking about this while lying here naked with you.” He’s looking up at the ceiling, laughing, and she watches the way his lip curls up when he laughs, the way his eyes flicker and she just loves him so damn much.

She reaches out to touch his stomach, smiling at him. “That’s the most romantic thing any man has ever said to me after sex, Mulder.”

They laugh and then are both are quiet for a minute before he speaks again. “Did I ever tell you I used to be a smoker?”

“No, you didn’t,” she replies. She doesn’t find it incredibly shocking, considering the ways in which the man can use his mouth. But she's relieved that he’s obviously kicked the habit.

“Only a couple years, but it was hard to quit. I can admit that now. At the time it confused me.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Well, I knew it was bad for me. I knew it was killing me slowly, day by day. But it was something I was used to. It had become part of me. It was tough to shake.”

Her mind makes an odd connection just then, that this is kind of how she feels about Mulder. She would never blame him for any of the things that have happened to her over the years, but they happened. And they happened because she’s so hopelessly devoted to him. He is part of her, he is tough to shake.

Is he bad for her? She knows as well as anyone what it’s like to love dangerous men. But she is _in love_ with Mulder. It’s right, it’s real. Her rational mind can tell her anything it wants to but she knows she could never give him up; her heart won't let her.

“I think… you learned over time what was best for you. That maybe your life, your health, was more important than the cigarettes. More important than the addiction.”

He finally turns his head to look at her and he reaches out to touch her hair. It’s almost as if he senses what she’s thinking about. She looks into his eyes and he opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again.

She wants to believe he loves her, too, and that he is trying to tell her that. She can be mad or disappointed that he hasn’t said it, but she hasn’t, either. And she’s scared. It all feels so stupid; she knows they love each other, they have for years. But she doesn’t know what he wants. Hell, she doesn’t really even know what _she_ wants, not yet.

“You should probably go sleep in your own room, Mulder,” she says finally, realizing whatever he wants to say he isn’t going to say it.

“Yeah. Probably.” He’s still looking at her intently with those eyes and she feels as if she’s physically falling into them, as if she will never stop falling. She’s done for.

“Mulder…” she whispers.

God, she wants him to know. Somehow, without having to say it, she wants him to know. So she leans forward, softly taking ownership of his glorious bottom lip, the same one she’s wanted to feel between her own for so long, and now can. She slides her tongue over it and he closes his eyes and groans softly into her mouth. His own tongue seeks access and she grants it readily, and he holds the back of her head as they engage in this wonderful slow dance they are both starting to learn with each other, step by step. She would live here if she could, but she knows he should go back to his room before this leads anywhere because her body needs rest. _God, does it need rest._

She leans away from him slowly, pulling that lip with her until finally releasing it back to him. His eyes are still closed and his mouth is slightly open and she knows she’s left him wanting more. Always wanting more.

“Go,” she says, and gently pushes his chest. He finally opens his eyes and looks at her, and his mouth curls into a smile that could break her if she wasn’t suddenly so determined to get some goddamn rest. “Go, Mulder!” she laughs and he slides off the bed, pulling on his boxers.

“Okay, I’ll go,” he says as he pulls on his pants, “but you should know I _really_ don’t want to.”

“We’re working. I already broke my own rule.”

He sighs loudly, bare chested and gorgeous, and gestures to the door. “That’s it, then. We’re quitting. I’ll go tell Skinner right now.”

She finds his shirt at the foot of the bed and throws it into his smiling face.

“Go to bed, Mulder. I’ll see you tomorrow. _When we will be working,_ ” she adds pointedly.

He puts the shirt on and raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Agent Scully.” Then he turns and is gone.

She settles back into bed, deciding maybe she is a naked sleeper, after all. She turns the light out and as torturous as her feelings are, as confusing as this all is, she can’t help but admit it’s fun, too. He’s fun. They are having fun with it.

Maybe for now, that’s how this will be. Until she’s ready to tell him. Until they both are ready to tell each other. She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

 


	4. First Abstention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He decides to take another risk. He’s always trusted his gut, and right now it’s telling him what she wants. He takes both her hands in his and lifts them above her head, slowly, until she is pinned against the door. Her breathing picks up rapidly and he knows instantly he’s discovered yet another secret about his enigmatic partner.

  **Brand X**

**(2000)**

 

She sits at his bedside, holding his hand, full of relief she’s managed to keep him alive yet again. After days of uncertainty, she and his doctors were able to eliminate every single beetle egg and larvae from his lungs. Unfortunately, the damage was extensive and he has a lot of healing to do. It’s been ten days since she last spoke to him; ten days since the last time they were together. She tries to focus on the fact that he’s alive but her body is physically aching for his touch.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I’m sorry this happened,” he says.

“You’re sorry?” she asks incredulously. “Mulder, you’re the one with beetle remnants clogging your air passages. What the hell are you sorry about?”

He laughs, or at least tries to. His voice is raspy and sounds awful. “Yeah, but it was nice there, for a second. Things felt simple, and normal. I know how much you like normal,” he grins. “Everything with us is always so… heavy.”

“Our lives are heavy, Mulder,” she sighs. “It’s the nature of our jobs.”

“I’ll bet you never imagined this when you first accepted Blevins’ assignment, though.”

She had been so unbelievably scared she was going to lose him once again, right after everything felt like it was just beginning. But this is the way their lives are, this is the way things are going to be because she chose him. She doesn’t love _that_ , but she loves him. There is no choice, not really.

“No, I didn’t,” she admits. “But things change. Lives change, people change.” She takes his hand, squeezes it gently. “ _We_ changed.”

She doesn’t want to say too much because he’s heavily sedated. Anything she says to him now doesn’t count. Even the entire explanation she laid out for what happened to him is something he probably won’t remember.

“We didn’t change, not really,” he says to her, and he looks into her eyes. He seems lucid enough, but she doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I feel the same way about you now that I have for years, Scully.”

She still isn’t sure what he means. This could go either way. Ambiguity is their art form and words their most inadequate medium.

He looks at her and squeezes her hand, coughing. He looks terrible. She’s not getting some kind of confession out of him today, and she knows he needs to sleep.

“You should rest, Mulder. I’ll be back later.” She stands up and brings his hand to her lips, kisses it. “Thanks for not dying.”

He smiles. “Thanks for saving my life, Scully.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” She releases his hand and walks away.

 

***

 

It’s been nearly two weeks since Scully saved his life in North Carolina. He’s feeling much better and he's finally been released from the hospital. He doesn’t want to see her though, not when he’s like this. He’s not well enough and he doesn’t really trust himself around her quite yet. But two weeks is a long time to wait. It’s been torture.

He takes a cab home and enters his apartment, walking around, noticing the changes around him: two coffee mugs on the kitchen counter. Two toothbrushes on his bathroom sink. Two towels, both hung up, a nice change. He smiles to himself. _Ah, Scully._

The cab driver had been smoking, and Mulder knew he shouldn’t have, but he breathed in that scent of the past, that scent of comfort and something familiar. He couldn’t help himself; he wanted to smoke again.

It made him think of something even more disturbing; that him making that choice, to put himself in danger every day over and over again was like Scully making this ridiculous choice to trust her heart with him. He wants her to trust him, he wants to protect her heart more than anything but the truth is, he doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t trust himself not to fuck it up, or to even be good enough for her. He doesn’t truly think anyone could ever be good enough for Scully. She deserves so much more than he can provide her and he knows it.

He’d been so close to telling her he loved her in that motel room, but he decided to hold back. As if he didn’t already think saying it was a big deal, if possible, now it’s an even bigger one; because regardless of any amount of smoke he could inhale, he’s dying, actually dying, of a mysterious brain disease. He hasn’t said anything to Scully about it because there’s nothing to be done. Every doctor he’s spoken to is stumped, and ironically, the only doctor who might be able to help him figure out what’s wrong is the one doctor he doesn’t want to tell.

He can’t tell her this. He can’t bear to tell her she’s going to lose him again.

He coughs loudly, still feeling pretty shitty but glad to be home, at least. He can’t quite believe everything that’s transpired between the two of them in such a short amount of time. But he meant what he said to her, and he remembers every word of it. They _haven’t_ changed, not really. He’s loved her for years, probably since he met her. The only thing that’s changed is that he can express it now; with his body, if not with his words.

He lays down on the couch and pulls the Navajo blanket over him, which Scully must have picked up off the floor at some point because of course she did. Her scent washes over him and he breathes it in. Just when he’s about to drift off and most certainly have sweet dreams his phone rings.

“Hey, Scully.”

_“Mulder, where are you?”_

“I’m at home.”

_“Oh, that's good to hear. Why didn’t you call me? I would have given you a ride.”_

“I don’t really feel up for… the company, if you get my drift,” he grins into the phone. He can tell she’s smiling, too.

_“I can only imagine.”_

“Well, Scully, imagining is all we’re going to get to do tonight. I’m sorry, though. More sorry than you are, I’m sure.”

_“Bet you’re wrong about that, Mulder.”_

He smiles. “Let’s call it a draw.”

_“Get some rest, okay? Are you coming into work tomorrow?”_

“I think so. That’s the plan, anyway.”

_“See you then.”_

“Bye, Scully.”

He hears her hang up and sighs, smiling to himself. He waited seven years for her and he’s waiting again. He clicks the phone off and tucks himself into the Scully blanket, surrounding himself with her one way or another.

 

***

 

He holds up the pack of Morleys and her heart drops into her stomach.

“You’re not going to start smoking.” It’s meant to be a command, but she knows deep down she can’t tell him what to do. Her voice is laced with a twinge of sadness, because she knows her threats are empty. She wouldn’t be with any other smoker, but she would be with him, regardless. She can only hope he makes the right choice.

“I don’t know. They say the addiction is stronger than heroin,” he says, smelling the pack of cigarettes.

“Mulder.” She changes the timbre of her voice, a tone she knows she should not be using within the walls of the office. It’s throaty and suggestive. Then she gives him a _look._ She can’t make this decision for him but she can certainly be an influence.

The look does the trick. She doesn’t even need to raise her eyebrow. The look is all that he needs. It’s the look that says _the day you start smoking is the day you stop getting this._

The cigarettes go right into the trash.

“Good,” she says. He grins in understanding and looks her up and down. He gets a pass this time. She wants him to visualize what he’d be missing.

“Skinner’s waiting for us in his office,” she tells him.

“I’ll be right up.”

With a final look that tells him he’ll most certainly be rewarded later for choosing wisely, she walks out of the office and heads towards the elevator. She thanks God he called her bluff; the thought of mingling the sweet scent of her Mulder with the disgusting smell of smoke would have broken her heart.

“Hey, Scully.” She hears him catch up behind her just as the elevator arrives. “I do know better. I wasn’t seriously considering it, okay?”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mulder.”

“But you should know this is mostly out of fear. I’d worry every day you’d kick my ass,” he chuckles.

“And I would,” she affirms.

The elevator door closes and as if mimicking its movements they slam together ferociously, her shoving him against the wall of the elevator, hard, as she grabs him tightly by the back of his neck, her lips smashed up against his. He seems to have missed her just as much, and spins her around so he can take control, pressing her against the wall and leaning into her, and something animal awakens inside her. She’s not entirely sure what it is but she felt it when he flipped her around that way. She reaches a hand down to find him already getting hard. She knows they only have a few seconds but it’s very hard to care when his tongue is down her throat.

And she thought waiting seven years felt long. The past two weeks has been absolute torture.

Regaining control of herself she hears the _*ding*_ and shoves him across the elevator. Her lipstick is smeared across his mouth and she knows that was so stupid but totally worth it anyway.

Luckily they don’t have an audience as the doors open, and she adjusts her suit and runs her fingers through her hair, leaving him breathless and disheveled behind her. She feels a little sorry she left him with a little too much to show for himself, especially since they are about to go into a meeting with Skinner.

“Bathroom’s over there, Mulder,” she says, without turning around. She hears him scampering away and smiles to herself.

 

***

 

He’s just jumped into the shower because she’s on her way over. He told her he wanted to watch a movie and it’s been a while since he's dated anyone, if that's even what they're doing, but he’s hoping that still means what it used to mean. Two weeks has felt like an eternity.

He hates himself a little bit for it, but after the meeting with Skinner he’d ducked back into the office and retrieved a single cigarette from the trash can, which he’d smoked outside after Scully left to go home and change. It wasn’t as good as he remembered, and he regretted it instantly. But now he’s worried she might find out about it. He’s already brushed his teeth three times and stuffed his suit into a garment bag into his closet, but the woman is a bloodhound. He just hopes he’ll be able to convince her it had been a momentary lapse in judgment.

He’s barely been in the shower for a couple minutes when he hears his front door close. _Shit, how did she get here so fast?_

“Scully?” he calls from the shower.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he hears her from the other side of the door.

“Be right out.” He rinses and turns the water off, wraps a towel around his waist, and grabs a second towel. He opens the door and she is sitting on his bed, in jeans and a sweater that shows off all the right curves.

“Casual Scully, I like it,” he smiles, nodding.

She gestures to a small bag next to her. “And look, I brought a toothbrush. And pajamas too.”

“I hope you won’t be needing those,” he says, head turned to the side as he rubs his hair dry.

“Just in case.” She sits and looks at him for a bit, and he can tell she likes what she sees. There’s suddenly awkwardness in the air again; almost as if being away from each other long enough had undone all the progress they’d made in that regard.

After a minute, she stands up and approaches him. “I like this look you’re going for, Mulder.”

“What, Naked Towel Guy?”

She nods. “It’s… efficient.” She touches his stomach. It’s still damp. She smiles and rises up onto her toes. He notices she’s wearing flats so it takes a bit of effort to get up to him but she holds him behind the neck and pulls him down to kiss her and he closes his eyes, knowing she’ll either find out or she won’t in mere seconds.

She finds out.

Pulling back, she makes a face. “Mulder, did you smoke?”

He’s not going to lie. It’s not worth it. “Yes, but just one. And I didn’t finish it.”

“Mulder!” she doesn’t look mad, just disappointed. He thinks that’s probably worse.

“Never again, okay? I promise.”

She narrows her eyes skeptically. “You said that earlier.”

“Well, technically I didn’t.”

The eyebrow goes up. “Do you think you’ll get off on a technicality?”

He shrugs, smiling, not really sure how upset she actually is.

“It’s not funny, Mulder. Those things will kill you. Not to mention I’m entirely turned off right now.”

“I’m sorry. Okay? I really am. I don’t know what came over me.” He reaches out to rub her shoulders.

“This isn’t a joke to me. I’m being serious.”

She looks at him, and he can see the disappointment in her eyes. He doesn’t like it. He already feels like he doesn’t deserve her, and this isn’t helping.

She shakes her head. “Maybe I should just go. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

She turns to go and he isn’t sure which is stronger right now, his libido or his regret. He just knows he cannot let her leave. He follows her to his door.

“Scully, you’re being a little unreasonable, don’t you think?”

“Unreasonable?” she turns and he can tell he’s fucked up again. “If you’d lie to me about this, what else will you lie about, Mulder?”

“I didn’t lie!” He’s a little angry now. He made a mistake and he’s trying to move past it. Why won’t she?

She goes to open his door and he closes it, hard, holding his arm straight out and blocking her from leaving.

“Scully, don’t go. Please.” He decides begging might be his only option. He doesn’t want her to leave like this. It’s been too long since they’ve been together and he wishes he’d never gone back for that fucking cigarette at all. He thinks he might literally die if he has to go another night without her.

She doesn’t say anything, but he sees something he hasn’t noticed in her before. She keeps glancing at his outstretched arm, breathing heavily. As if this simple act of restraint has got her aroused.

He makes a decision in this moment to try something. If he regrets it, fine. He already has plenty of regret to go around. He puts his other arm up so he’s got her trapped between them and leans in next to her ear. “Say you don’t want to go. Say you want to stay as badly as I want you to.”

She looks at him with those eyes, the eyes that always know when he’s serious. He can count on it.

“I don’t want to go, Mulder,” she says. She makes no movements. He leans in again even closer, his lips barely grazing her ear. He hears her inhale sharply.

“What do you want?” he whispers.

“I want… to stay, here with you.”

He decides to take another risk. He’s always trusted his gut, and right now it’s telling him what she wants. He takes both her hands in his and lifts them above her head, slowly, until she is pinned against the door. Her breathing picks up rapidly and he knows instantly he’s discovered yet another secret about his enigmatic partner.

She likes being restrained.

“Do you like this, Scully?” he whispers. He is so close to her face but not touching her.

She looks him in the eyes and nods, slowly. “Yes.”

Before he has a chance to think about the implications of this, she’s on him, her mouth against his. She kisses him with fervor, her mouth doing as much as it possibly can with no hands free to scratch his back or pull his hair. He continues to hold her wrists against the door because _fuck, this is hot._ He brings his body close to hers, still only wrapped in a towel, and she strains against him in need. After a few moments he figures he’s tortured them both enough and releases her, and she leaps up into his arms almost too quickly for him to respond.

Luckily he catches her, but loses his towel in the process. Her jeans-clad legs wrap around him and he walks backwards towards the couch.

“Get these off of me, Mulder,” she says, and he’s never heard her voice this way before. She’s completely outside of herself with arousal and he’d laugh if he wasn’t certain it would spoil this mood she’s clearly enjoying.

He obliges as quickly as he can, setting her back on the floor, and unzips her jeans, pulling them down as she removes her sweater. She pushes him back onto the couch and he sees she is wearing red lingerie. _God help me, it’s red lingerie,_ he thinks.

He groans as she crawls on top of him. The light from his fish tank reflects on her skin.

“Mulder.”

“...Yeah?”

“You won’t smoke anymore, will you?”

“Fuck no.”

“You promise me?”

“I promise.”

He really does. He’s finished with all of that. He’s done addiction before; he can handle addiction. It’s in his bones. He makes a decision: he’s going to be addicted to her now, instead.

She leans down to kiss him again and they are both so turned on he’s certain that, once again, this will all be over faster than he’d like it to be. He grabs her ass, squeezing it, and the sight of her in the red lingerie might actually kill him dead.

“Get on top, Mulder,” she commands. He obeys, gladly. “Do that thing again with my wrists.”

He smiles and cocks his head a bit. “You _like_ that, don’t you, Scully?”

She nods, grinning, but before he acquiesces to her request, he tugs at her panties and slides them down her legs. It pains him to see them go, but he looks ahead to the future and is undeterred.

He takes her wrists in his hands and presses them above her head. He sees her eyes bulge as she gasps, and it’s as if he’s stumbled across some gold nugget in the wilderness that is Dana Scully. He’s discovered a kink and it’s been three weeks. How can he be so lucky?

“Oh god, Mulder..” she moans as she inhales sharply again. Any more of these noises will put him right over the edge, so he needs to move this along. Either she senses what he’s thinking, or she’s just as close as he is, but she moves her legs up until they are over his shoulders. Before he loses all control he’s inside her and she’s gasping and moaning his name and he knows he’s just about finished.

“ _Scully_ …”

She captures his gaze with hers immediately. She doesn’t even need her hands free to do it.

“I’m so close, Mulder… wait for me…”

_Wait…_

He’s so tired of waiting. But he waits, he will always wait for her.

“Wait for me…”

Soon he knows he cannot wait anymore and their eyes meet again. He’s pretty confident they are both able to make each other come with one look. It’s enough, and she screams out her release as he does his, and he collapses on top of her, breathing heavily. He doesn’t want to crush her so after a moment he slides off her, off the couch, onto the floor, flopping onto his back.

She follows, still in her red bra, and lays on top of him, snuggling into his neck. He can feel her heart pounding and is completely satisfied.

“Shit, Scully,” he says, panting. “That was... unbelievable.”

She says nothing in response but her hand goes to his face and strokes it gently as she breathes heavily.

“So… we discovered something _new_ about you this evening, didn’t we?” he says playfully. He chuckles and runs his fingers along her shoulder blades.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she replies, but he can tell she’s smiling. They're quiet for a couple minutes, their breath calming, hearts slowing down.

“I am sorry I upset you, Scully,” he says softly. “It wasn’t my intention. And I won’t do it again.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “Maybe I wasn’t as understanding as I should have been. I was the one who pumped you full of nicotine, I should be more sympathetic to something like this.”

“None of it matters anymore, okay?” he says gently, rubbing her shoulders. “I’m not going to start smoking.”

“Good,” she says.

“Speaking of smoking, though, have you been wearing this all day underneath your clothes? Jesus.”

“Full disclosure, I put it on before I came over. Sorry.”

“Do you have... more things like this? Because I am a fan.”

“Not many, to be honest. I bought this yesterday.”

He smiles and kisses her forehead and they just lay together quietly. That had definitely been worth the wait.

Suddenly he hears a key in his lock jiggling, and his ever-present paranoia awakens. He reaches for the Scully blanket and barely has time to throw it over them when he sees the face of Frohike appear in the doorway.

Both he and Scully look at him in horror and it takes Frohike a moment to process exactly what he’s seeing. Mulder can’t be sure he’s even been noticed at all because Scully has that fucking red bra on and oh, to be inside Frohike’s brain at this very moment would be an interesting place to be.

“Oh! Uh, I just came by for the- I- I’m so sorry, so sorry,” he mutters and turns around to leave, smacking straight into the doorframe. Without another glance back the door is closed and he is gone.

A full ten seconds of silence passes, then Mulder and Scully both burst into laughter, and he suspects the only reason she’s laughing and not panicking is because it was Frohike, and even she can't deny the humor of this particular encounter.

“Why does he have your key, Mulder?” she asks when she can speak again.

“I gave the Gunmen a key years ago, in case of emergencies. He’s been feeding the fish. The goddamn fish. I forgot to call him and tell him I was coming home.”

“I don’t think he’ll ever offer to feed your fish again.”

“I don’t know, I think he might be back any minute.” They both laugh again and Scully buries her face into his chest.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that just happened,” she mumbles.

“Should I go check on him? I think… I think it’s possible that killed him. He may be dead in the hallway.”

“He didn’t hit the wall _that_ hard.”

“Not the wall, I mean seeing you like that. _That_ probably killed him.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s got something else for his spank bank now. You won’t have to pay him for feeding your fish. You’re welcome.”

He laughs and pulls her down to kiss her, and she adjusts her legs to straddle him again.

“You still want to watch a movie, Scully?”

She shakes her head and looks down at him, smiling. “No. I definitely don’t want to watch a movie.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless Frohike, the man deserved better. I felt like giving him a little gift ;)


	5. First Limo Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long, tedious evening, standing around talking to strangers, close enough to Scully to smell her and wanting to touch her so badly but keeping his distance, for both of their sakes. He’s had enough.

**Hollywood AD**

**(2000)**

 

“Well… _we’re_ alive,” Scully says, taking his arm. “And we’re relatively young. And Skinner was so tickled by the movie-“

“I’ll bet he was,” Mulder grumbles.

“...that he has given us a Bureau credit card to use for the evening.” She waves it tantalizingly in front of him. He stands and they walk out together, laughing. Her laugh has superpowers.

As they turn to exit the soundstage, something happens. She takes his hand in her own, interlacing their fingers together and he’s transported back to a time when he was younger, a time when the feel of a girl’s hand was exciting and full of mystery. He’s felt her hand in his own dozens of times but always in friendship or support. Never like this, with the promise of her physical attentions later.

She looks up at him and smiles, and he realizes he’s probably seen her smile more in the past three weeks than the entire time he’s known her. He’s fully aware he’s the one making her so happy and the joy this brings him is beyond measure.

“So…” she says, rubbing her thumb against his pulse point suggestively. “The world is our oyster, Mulder. What are we going to do with this blank check?” She waves the credit card at him.

“What exactly did Skinner say to you?” he asks. Never before have Skinner or the Bureau rewarded them for anything.

“Well, he asked me what I thought of the movie.”

“And?”

“I said it was shockingly inaccurate.”

“Which part?” he laughs.

“He didn’t seem to mind, and neither did his… date.” They laugh together. “Anyway, he said to enjoy, that we deserved it. Whatever that means.”

They walk along the sidewalk, holding hands, along a seemingly deserted set of a New York style street. They stop near a faux alleyway and Scully turns to look at him and he places his hands on her arms, rubbing them a bit. She looks up at him.

“I really want to kiss you right now, Mulder.”

“Well, what’s stopping you?”

She looks around furtively. “I don’t know. I guess the only person around here we know is Skinner. And Wayne Federman.”

He chuckles. “If only we had the opportunity the last time we saw him. Maybe he would have gotten the plot right.”

“We did have the opportunity,” she says. She looks into his eyes. “We’ve had a million opportunities, Mulder.”

She’s right, they have. He certainly can’t count the times he wanted to kiss her and didn’t.

“I think… that regardless of what did or didn’t happen in the past,” he says, “I really like where we are now.”

In answer, she wraps her arms around his waist underneath his jacket, and kisses him softly. It’s brief but romantic as hell, and he holds her close as she rests her head against his chest.

“How are we getting out of here, then?”

“Well,” Mulder explained, “as much as I can’t stand the guy, Federman hooked us up with a limo.”

“Wait. _Us_? He assumed we’d be going back together?”

The truth was, Mulder only had himself to blame for Federman’s assumptions about their relationship. He’d made it very clear months ago that he and Scully weren’t romantically involved. So it was his own fault that a character loosely based on Scully ending up with a character loosely based on Skinner was plastered on movie screens everywhere for everyone to see.

 

***

 

When they were asked to attend the premiere, Federman had called Mulder personally.

_“Hey-o, Agent Mulder! It’s Wayne-slash-Federman.”_

Mulder groaned. “I’m kind of busy, Wayne. What do you want?”

 _“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, pal. Not so fast.”_ His tone changed. _“How’s the divine Agent Scully?”_ Mulder could just hear his eyebrows waggling.

“She’s fantastic. What’s up?”

_“In a couple weeks our little baby is gonna be born, on display for the world to see. Are you pumped?!”_

“Our baby?”

_“Well, not yours and mine. I mean, you know, all of ours.”_

“Is that so?”

_“The studio is flying you two and the Skinman over for the premiere on our dime. Hotels, limos, the works. You down?”_

It sounded exciting. It could be a great chance for him and Scully to get away for a bit, away from work, away from D.C., away from everything that kept them from behaving normally, or at least the kind of ‘normal’ he knew Scully liked.

“Yeah… thanks, Wayne. That actually sounds great.”

_"The Skinman is bringing a date, so I’ve got both you and Agent Scully down with a plus one. Hotels have been booked but I need a name to book airfare. Who are you gonna be bringing?”_

Mulder hesitated. He knew he wouldn’t be bringing a plus one, and neither would Scully. Could this be the time and place where they’d be forced to out themselves?

“No, uh… no plus one for me, Wayne, thanks.”

_“Oh. That’s too bad. Sorry, G-man. Well, I’ll see you on the coast in a couple weeks. Gotta give Agent Scully a call now to find out who she's bringing.”_

“Oh, that’s… that’s not necessary, she’s… I know she’s not seeing anyone right now.”

_“Oh. Well, I’ll pretend you didn’t tell me that, Agent Mulder. I’m really looking forward to making this call, if you know what I mean.”_

It was probably the way Federman said it that put Mulder’s teeth on edge and he couldn’t help himself.

“You don’t have to call her, because I’m her plus one, Wayne.”

There was an extended silence and then he heard Wayne chuckling. “ _Hoo hoo! Thatta boy, Agent Mulder! I knew you two had it in you.”_

“It’s not… uh, it’s not like that…” Mulder said haltingly but this old song and dance wasn’t going to fly this time and they both knew it.

_“Say no more, G-man. I’ve got you covered.”_

Later that day Mulder received a confirmation email for one (1) limousine to be picking him and Scully up after the premiere. He wondered if Federman had planned to goad this information out of him all along. The guy was annoying as hell, but he was perceptive, and Mulder appreciated the gesture.

 

_***_

 

Back at the studio lot, Scully looks at him inquisitively. “Well?”

Mulder looks guilty and rubs the back of his neck. “I may have accidentally told him about us. Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, who cares.”

“Really?”

“We’re never going to see that guy again. Who cares?”

They hadn’t really discussed keeping this new aspect of their relationship private, but it had just kind of happened. He honestly didn’t care who knew, but he was respectful of Scully’s boundaries and figured this information could jeopardize her status at the Bureau; if not in reality, in her mind or the minds of others. Neither of them had told anyone else, as far as he knew, so it was encouraging that Scully could at least let this one go. She was right; it really didn’t matter what Wayne Federman knew or didn’t know. The movie had been made, the damage had been done.

He takes both her hands in his. “Where are we off to? Anywhere you want.”

“Honestly, I’m tired of being around all these people, Mulder,” she says. “I just want to be alone with you right now.”

He nods and smiles. “I like where your head’s at, Scully.”

He glances around them and notices a small faux-alleyway tucked behind a faux-mailbox. It’s been a long, tedious evening, standing around talking to strangers, close enough to Scully to smell her and wanting to touch her so badly but keeping his distance, for both of their sakes. He’s had enough.

Pulling her into the alleyway, he cups her face in his hands and her mouth opens to his as he pushes her against the wall. He presses his length to her body and his thumbs move gently against her temples as they kiss, releasing hours of tension in a way that goes straight to his groin. He knows they should stop, but he just can’t help himself. Her fingers thread through his hair as she pulls him into her, her hips gyrating against his.

“Hoo hoo hoo!” A chuckle comes from outside the alleyway.

Mulder pulls back in mortification and Scully whips around to look at the source. Wayne Federman flashes his Hollywood smile and points both fingers at them like guns, firing two shots. “You two enjoy your evening,” he smarms, and walks out of their sight.

“Thank you very much and good night, Wayne!” Mulder calls after him, roughly.

“I think we should just do what he says, Mulder,” Scully says. She grabs his hand and leads him back out to the street, where they see a line of limousines and cars waiting near a valet.

“I assume one of these is ours, then?”

One of the drivers is standing on the sidewalk several yards away with a sign that reads simply “MULDER SCULLY.”

“This might be the one,” he points out.

“Hey, wait a second, Mulder,” she says, and pulls him back. She stands in front of him and looks up at him. “It’s been a long night and I know the second we get into that car and the door closes we’re both going to want to do things to each other that we probably shouldn’t do in a limo.”

He’s hard already and isn’t sure where she’s going with this, as usual.

“Go _on_ ,” he smirks.

“This isn’t technically a work-related trip, but can we just.. wait? Until we get back to the room? Is that okay?”

He isn’t going to argue, regardless of what’s going on in his pants. “Contrary to previously established evidence, I _can_ control myself around you, Scully.”

“You have seven years of ‘previously established evidence’ that can verify such a statement,” she grins. “We both do.”

He grins back and, knowing they can’t get up to too much trouble standing on the sidewalk, leans in again to kiss her. She smells so goddamn good and he’s having second thoughts about his ability to control himself so he pulls away quickly and leads her into the waiting car.

The door slams and they are sitting side by side in the back of a limousine headed to a hotel where they both know they are going to screw each other senseless. The tension is thicker than Wayne Federman’s skull.

“Where can I take you two?” The driver leans back and says over his shoulder.

“Ritz-Carlton, please,” Mulder replies.

“Sure thing. Be about twenty minutes.”

Their knees are barely touching, and he sees Scully’s hands go to her sides and tap the seat. He follows suit and taps his own thighs a bit.

“Oh… help yourself to the champagne back there, it’s paid for,” the driver adds.

Mulder looks down and sees a bottle on ice. Twenty minutes? They can handle that, certainly. He grabs the bottle and two glasses, handing the glasses to Scully. Placing the bottle between his legs to open it only further calls to his attention his inability to keep himself under control.

He pours the champagne and as they sip it they look at each other. He knows he probably shouldn’t be looking at her. Her eyes are absolutely full of want and it’s killing him.

_Nineteen minutes._

“Air’s getting a little hot in here,” Scully says, taking off her jacket and laying it across her lap. Her eyes dart down to his his crotch, then back up to his eyes, and her tongue slides out of her mouth just a bit and rolls along her bottom lip. He groans.

 _Christ, I’m not a teenager anymore. I am a grown man,_ he thinks. _This should not be so difficult._

“I didn’t realize you had a mean streak, Scully,” he says.

“What are you talking about?” she asks innocently.

“You know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

She does the tongue thing all the time, mostly without realizing it. It’s possible she doesn’t know what she’s doing. “That thing you do with your tongue. Stop it.”

She leans into his ear and whispers “You mean… this thing with my tongue?” She nibbles at his earlobe and he closes his eyes, getting harder by the second.

_Seventeen minutes._

“This is not nice. You were the one who wanted to wait,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.

“That was before I noticed your… condition,” she says.

“Just give me a minute and my _condition_ will no longer be a problem, okay?”

She smiles and sips her champagne. “Maybe I can help you out,” she says suggestively.

He does a double take. “Agent _Scully_!”

“No!” she laughs. “Maybe I can… bring it down. With something decidedly un-sexy.”

He’s skeptical. “Do your worst, then.”

She looks thoughtful. “Okay. Well, there’s a scientific basis to an erection. It begins in the autonomous nervous system, and when the arteries dilate it affects the corpora cavernosa _and_ the corpora spongiosa.”

He groans. Scully talking to him about science may as well be one of his erogenous zones. He’s never let her in on this dirty secret before. “Scully, if you’re trying to make me _less_ excited, this is not working. Cut that out.”

“Wait… this is turning you on?”

He nods, closing his eyes. “Your sciencey shit has always turned me on. It’s not helping.”

She tries to stifle a laugh. “Mulder. Are you telling me…?”

“Yes! Okay? This has maybe happened before.”

Scully turns to face forward, a huge grin on her face. She takes her glass, tips it back and downs the entire thing.

“Well, we can’t get out of the limo with this in your pants, Mulder,” she says, with as much conviction in her voice as she reserves for disavowing aliens and vampires. “It would be... indecent.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting…”

“I feel bad. I did this to you. I think it’s my responsibility to relieve your discomfort.”

“Scully-“ he says, his eyes glancing toward the front of the limo. The partition is still down.

“Come on, let me. The doctor in me wants to help. ‘First do no harm,’ and all.”

He laughs and she stops him with her lips as she kisses him, her hand finding the bulge in his pants. He finally decides to go with it and his half full glass falls to the floor of the limo and breaks. For the second time this evening he’s transported back in time to being a teenager again, heading to prom, hoping to get lucky. This time he knows he’ll be getting lucky and it makes this all even more arousing. Suddenly he hears...

** _ahem**_

...the driver, clearing his throat. They pull apart, breathing heavily.

“I’ll just put the partition up, okay? Give you two some privacy.”

“No!” Scully yells, sitting up straight. “Sorry, leave it down. We’ll behave.”

The driver shrugs and keeps driving.

Mulder groans, shifting again, now in straight up pain.

“I’ve got you, Mulder,” she whispers. “Just be quiet.”

He knows she doesn’t want the partition up because the second that happens is the second all caution is blown to the wind and any rules would most certainly go out the window. But she seems to really want to put him out of his misery, and in this moment he’s grateful. She throws her jacket over his lap. Underneath, her hand finds his belt buckle and she deftly opens it and the relief he feels from her warm hand around his length makes him exhale loudly.

“Scully…” 

He closes his eyes as she quietly strokes him up and down and  _ Christ, that feels good.  _ He doesn’t want to look at her, the fear of making too much noise a genuine one. He can already picture her face in his mind’s eye anyway and she’s doing the tongue thing again behind his closed eyelids. He bites his lip, hard, to keep from moaning. 

She makes quick work of it, not that she has to try too hard, and after a minute or so he’s feeling much, much better. Finding a box of tissues, she hands it to him with a grin. Her eyes dart to the partition where the driver is still turned around, none the wiser.

He shakes his head to himself, marveling at what just happened. Scully wasn’t kidding when she told him there were things about her he hadn’t learned yet. He can only hope he never stops learning them.

“Thank you, now I can survive the last half of this ride,” he says, when he’s able to speak again.

“You’re welcome,” she smiles. As he calms down a bit, she grabs him a new glass, fills it, and refills her own, handing his to him.

“Cheers,” she says, and once again flashes the smile he’s been living off the past few weeks. He clinks their glasses together and takes a bigger swig than he typically might.

“Here’s to the most terrible film ever made in the history of terrible films,” Mulder adds.

Scully makes a thoughtful face. “It wasn’t as bad as _Plan Nine From Outer Space_ ,” she corrects him.

“It’s a toss-up.”

“You’re just mad about the flashlight thing,” she points out, and grins again.

“Well, it was _quite_ presumptuous of him,” he says petulantly.

“No complaints from this department, Mulder.”

She leans into his shoulder and sips her champagne, and he takes her hand into his, interlacing their fingers once again. They sit in comfortable silence for the remaining twelve minutes, as he eagerly anticipates their arrival.

 


	6. First Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tastes like strawberries and champagne and romance. It’s something new, and for a moment she feels removed from herself, as if they are not Scully and Mulder but two entirely different people on some romantic escapade.

 

**Hollywood AD**

**(2000)**

 

She’s impressed.

When they enter the hotel room she can see their benefactor Wayne Federman had spared no expense. She’s never been inside a room this amazing.

“Wow, Mulder,” she exhales as she crosses the room to the window. She looks at downtown Los Angeles for a moment before she turns around and narrows her eyes.

“Please don’t tell me I’m going to sleep with you in a room Wayne Federman paid for.”

He shrugs. “It was the studio.” He walks over towards her but keeps his distance. “But can we just pretend I paid for it? You know I would in a heartbeat if I could.”

She smiles, a bit shyly. This is somehow different for them, yet again. They’re far away from home. They’re on what most normal people would consider a “date.” Not to mention they’re in a hotel suite that screams “honeymoon” with everything from the rose petals spread all over the bed to the champagne and strawberries on the kitchenette counter. She definitely notices all of it, including how amazing he looks in his tux.

He crosses over to her, removes her jacket from her shoulders and tosses it onto the chair behind her. Taking both her hands in his, he leads her to the kitchenette.

“How about some more champagne?” he says with a smile. She nods.

He pops the cork and pours them both a glass. Leaning against the counter, he just gazes at her for a while. She’s used to it, especially lately.

“Is there really another room in this hotel under my name?” she asks him suspiciously.

“This one is yours,” he says with a smile. “My room is down the hall. But I’m pretty confident no one will be sleeping there tonight.”

“And did you arrange all this? The champagne, the rose petals?”

He nods. “Not gonna let Federman take credit for that.”

“I’m impressed, Mulder. But it wasn’t necessary. I’m a sure thing, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He laughs. “It is necessary, Scully. I wanted to because you deserve everything good in life.” She sees a brief twinge of sadness cross his face and he tries to hide it but she knows him so well it doesn’t escape her notice.

“What is it?” she asks.

He shakes his head and she knows he just doesn’t want to cast a shadow on the evening. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But-”

“It’s nothing, Scully. Just trust me, okay?”

She nods, but wonders what this is about. He’s clearly thinking about something specific. Something he feels bad about.

The IVF. Of course that’s what’s on his mind. Ever since she told him it failed months ago, something changed, something had come over him. It wasn’t pity, because whatever it was was something they both shared. Maybe it was just pain for what she’d lost, for what _they’d_ lost together.

They’d had only one conversation about it since they started sleeping together and it involved birth control. After he’d recovered from his illness he brought it up, assuming it wasn’t something they needed but wanting to make sure she was comfortable regardless. It wasn’t as awkward a conversation as it probably would be with most couples, but the sadness was inescapable.

“Mulder,” she says quietly. “I don’t _deserve_ anything. What I have is you, and that’s all I want.”

She reaches up to touch his face and he smiles, covering her hand with his. He then takes her hand in his own and brings it to his mouth, to his beautiful lips, and kisses each of her fingers more softly than she thought he might be capable of.

She moves to kiss him but he stops her. He wants to do this his way, and she decides she wants to let him.

“We’re always rushing, Scully. Tonight I want to go very, _very_ slow.”

Her eyebrow goes up, as it does. “I think we can handle that. At least, I hope we can.”

“Dear God, I hope we can,” he smirks and takes one of the strawberries from the plate on the counter. “Shall I feed you one?”

“For fuck’s sake, Mulder, no,” she laughs, pushing his hand away. He chuckles and eats it himself.

“Well, have one, please, they’re like eight bucks a berry.”

“Fine,” she says, and reaches for one, taking a bite. It’s juicy and delicious and maybe it’s just because of the way he’s watching her eat it but she muses that if ever a berry were worth eight dollars, this is indeed the berry.

“Okay, you’re right, these are delicious.” She eats another one. “It just occurred to me that Skinner might suspect something is up if we don’t spend any of the Bureau’s money tonight.”

“Well, we’ll raid the hell out of the minibar after,” he says.

“‘After,’ Mulder?” she says inquisitively, an eyebrow raised.

“Later. Oh come on, you said you’re a sure thing,” he laughs. She takes another strawberry and watches him do the same, his mouth working that magic she’s grown so fond of.

“Can I tell you something, Mulder?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve tried this with you before. This whole… seduction thing.” She’s a little embarrassed to be admitting this but it feels okay right now for some reason.

“When?” he replies, incredulously.

“Remember that night we skipped out on the FBI communication seminar to go chasing bush monsters?”

“Vaguely.”

“I brought you wine and cheese in your room…? Ringing any bells?”

He looks briefly confused, then closes his eyes. “I do remember that. I was really concentrating on the bush monster. I’m a fucking idiot, I guess.”

She shrugs and smiles. “I’m not mad about it. I know this about you, Mulder. You get so focused, so passionate, about whatever you’re interested in. It’s one of the things I adore most about you.”

He looks her in the eyes. Those eyes have some kind of magical power over her. He leans in slowly to press his lips against hers, and she opens her own to let him in. He tastes like strawberries and champagne and romance. It’s something new, and for a moment she feels removed from herself, as if they are not Scully and Mulder but two entirely different people on some romantic escapade.

She can tell he’s making an active effort to take this slowly, as he explores her mouth with his tongue gently and with precision. One hand is on her waist and the other is behind her head, softly combing his fingers through her hair, removing the headband she’d decided at the last minute to wear because she’d never done it before and everything about tonight felt different.

Her fingers touch his face, and it’s softer than it usually is since he probably shaved mere hours ago. She moves her lips around to kiss his cheek, wanting to feel the softness against her own. Her eyes are closed and so are his, and she can hear him breathing quietly into her ear.

He makes good on his promise to go slowly and she’s enjoying it so much she’s able to keep her own desire from building too soon. For what feels like an eternity he kisses every part of her face and she appreciates his ability to be so attentive.

Of course he’s attentive. It’s his nature to obsess. He’s going to be just as obsessive and passionate with her in the bedroom as he is when he’s focused on moth men, and she feels incredibly lucky to be the one he’s focused on right now.

He slowly begins to unzip her dress with one hand and trails the fingers of his other hand down her back so lightly it makes her shiver. About halfway down he stops.

“You aren’t wearing a bra.”

She steps back and smirks. “I’m not wearing anything.”

His eyes bulge. “Jesus, Scully. All night? Nada?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head. She smiles and pulls the dress down entirely. It pools at her feet and she steps out, kicking it aside, and he just gapes at her, completely naked in her heels.

“Okay, the heels need to go too, or my ‘go slow’ plan will be shot to shit.”

She laughs and obliges, kicking her heels off. She approaches him and starts to undress him as well. His clothing comes off silently, piece by piece. 

He handles his bow tie, which she's grateful for. She pulls his jacket off him, then the shirt. She unbuckles his belt and slides it slowly through the loops. She lightly grazes her knuckle along his stomach, a part of his anatomy she's always found incredibly sexy and wants to pay it a bit of special attention as he loses the pants and boxers.

Soon he is completely naked too, and they both stand still in the middle of the room looking at each other.

“Goddamn, Scully,” he chuckles, shaking his head a bit. “I still can’t really believe any of this. I keep expecting to wake up in a field of fungus or something.”

“I know what you mean,” she says. “But Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“Please, can you try not to mention fungus while we’re naked?”

“I’ll do my best,” he chuckles, and as he gathers her in his arms their lips meet again, a bit more fervently this time. His hands run down her back and she again shivers at his delicate touch, this new Mulder, wanting to take things slow, wanting to enjoy every single second.

She can feel his desire against her abdomen and rather than letting her mind leap towards the lust she typically can’t contain around him anymore, she lets it head another direction; the thoughts he himself articulated mere moments ago: trying to believe this is really happening. This is _Mulder._ They are actually doing this, embarking on this new journey together. She’s never found it easy to believe anything, and this is no exception.

They lay down together on the bed and the smell of roses surrounds her. It’s almost all too much and she feels as if she’s experiencing some kind of unfortunate cognitive dissonance that’s preventing her from meshing the Mulder she used to know with this new Mulder, the one who wants her in this way.

He’s kissing her gently and his kisses trail down her neck, onto her collarbone, until he finds her breast. He feathers it with kisses and takes her other one into his hand so softly she can barely feel it. She wonders if he’s teasing her but decides he isn’t; he’s just enjoying this, her softness, the Scully he’s only just being introduced to, the Scully he only just met a few weeks ago. They are both meeting and learning new versions of each other.

Suddenly his mouth descends upon her nipple with purpose and he sucks heartily, massaging her other breast with his hand. She feels her center start to burn and he feels impossibly hard again already.

“Slow, Mulder… remember?” she breathes as he starts flicking and pinching her nipple.

“It’s hard,” he says through a mouthful of flesh.

“Yeah, I can feel that,” she replies, and her words catch in her chest as she inhales sharply. She feels his mouth leave her breast and he blows cool air onto her and right when she’s reacting to this new sensation he moves his fingers down between her thighs. Before she even knows what’s happening she is coming, coming hard, breaking apart beneath him. She doesn’t remember if she yells out his name. She can’t even remember her own right now.

“Wow, I was just getting started, Scully.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she exhales, her legs still trembling, her body still coming down from where it was. “Shut up and keep going.”

She knows she doesn’t have to ask him twice and he’s upon her, doing what he loves most to do, sliding his tongue around inside her like she’s his favorite flavor of ice cream. Which, maybe she is.

He is so fucking good at this she can hardly stand it. Her hips buck and one of her hands grips the sheet, the other grabs his hair, and he has her so close to her apex again before she even has a chance to enjoy the feeling of his mouth on her. Without stopping his tongue for even a second she feels him slip a finger inside her and less than a minute after her first one she is coming again, harder than before.

After a moment she feels him laughing and he says “Dana Scully, you are certainly most blessed in the orgasm department.”

“It’s you who’s been blessed, Mulder. Jesus, that’s… a talent,” she gasps, trying to calm her breathing. He waits for a few moments and she feels him kissing her thigh softly, and as he moves upward he lays his chin on her stomach and just watches her come down from above.

“You ready for more?” he asks, and he moves his head down again _and I swear to god if he goes there one more time…_

She’s now actually concerned that if he makes her come again she will be too exhausted to finish this the way she wants to. So she touches the top of his head and says “Mulder, no...come here now, okay?”

He obeys and crawls up on his forearms until he’s hovering over her. She’s done talking and joking, she just wants to feel him inside her, and she knows he does too. So she pulls him in by his face and kisses him, tasting herself on his tongue, and then flips him over onto his back. She crawls onto him until she can feel his want directly beneath her and closes her eyes as she slides onto him, all the way down, as far down as she can.

He groans and holds onto her hips as she starts to move, and after they find a rhythm she bends down to look into his eyes, wanting him to see all the love she has for him inside them. She cups his face as they move together and they hold one another’s intense gaze, and it’s as if there is no bed, no hotel room, no Los Angeles, as if all the world around them has disappeared. It’s only him, and her.

She can tell she’s getting close again and she wants him to finish with her so she stops and pulls on his shoulder, flipping them over, getting him on top. In understanding he takes both her hands in his and holds them back above her head, interlacing their fingers together, joining them as much as humanly possible. He looks deeply into her eyes and his mouth is on hers again, softly, lovingly, and soon they are both crying out together as he squeezes her hands. She can feel his warmth as he comes inside her and for whatever reason her mind flashes to the failed IVF and the baby that never was, the baby they will never make, and she curses herself for these thoughts in this moment but she cannot help it, she cannot, and a tear breaks free as she turns away from him.

He’s still recovering and she can hear him breathing for a moment when his voice turns to concern. “Scully? Did I hurt you? Scully, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and with one loud sniff is composed once again. “No, you didn’t, I’m fine. Forget it, please just forget it.”

“Scully-“

“Please, Mulder. Trust me.” She gazes into his eyes knowing this is something he is not ready to hear, something she cannot say right now. She smiles up at him. “Please trust me. I am okay.”

She smiles and leans up to kiss him and he releases one of her hands to hold her head gently as he kisses her back.

“I trust you, Scully,” he says. “I always have.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The Lazarus Bowl” opened to terrible reviews and Wayne Federman’s baby was a box office flop, but on this night another baby was made in the Ritz Carlton Hotel.


	7. First SLEEPover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the most direct he’s been with her, that they’ve been with each other. She’s scared to talk about this but she has to. They’ve always respected each other as equals. She’s not sure why that would change, but thoughts of their history together meshed with thoughts of his head between her thighs has got her confused.

  
**Fight Club**

**(2000)**

 

 

Scully stares into the mirror, studying her face. It’s been a few days since Kansas City, which had been rough on both her and Mulder, but the wounds are healing pretty nicely. Having been outside of herself for the most part, she doesn’t remember much, but flashes of what it felt like to kick the shit out of him keep cropping up in her mind. She feels half bad about it, and half elated.

She’d never want to _actually_ kick Mulder’s ass, and she knows it. For all the times she’s threatened to, they both know she’s all talk. But it still excites her a bit, the idea that she’d done that to him, that he’d done this to her. It feels like some kind of weird forbidden fantasy that she would never actually participate in but was able to nonetheless. It’s over now, anyway. She can look back and laugh.

She knows what pain feels like, she’s been in this line of work long enough. But this pain has been substantial. Her body still has bruises everywhere and she’s curious about how Mulder has been faring.

The bathtub is slowly filling with hot water and bubbles. She’s eager to step in, and her muscles can practically feel the relief wash over them when she hears a knock at the door. It occurs to her that, if it’s Mulder, it’s the first time he’s been to her apartment since they started sleeping together.

She shuts off the water and ties the front of her robe. After she confirms it’s him through the peephole, she opens the door.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asks. They’d both agreed to take a breather the past couple days while their bodies healed. His face is still bruised but she’s thankful to see his jaw is no longer wired shut.

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” he looks a bit hesitant.

“No, no. Come on in.” She opens the door for him. “I’m sorry, I was just about to get into the bathtub.”

“Ooh, then I came just in time.” He walks in and closes the door behind him. He’s wearing jeans, a gray T shirt and his leather jacket, and he’s holding a bottle of wine.

“Mulder, are you really serious? I feel like hell, don’t you?” She winces in pain as she rolls her shoulder joint around.

“Well, yeah, which is exactly why I came over. To take care of you,” he grins, setting the bottle down.

She rolls her eyes and heads back into the bathroom. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” He follows her and she’s about to disrobe when she realizes how mundane this all feels, like it’s no big deal to strip naked in front of him and get into the bathtub.

Like he’s her boyfriend or something.

She turns and looks at him watching her. “Mulder. I’m about to get naked.”

“I can see that,” he says.

“And get into the bathtub.”

“These are all good things, Scully.”

She’s trying to communicate to him she’s not interested in having sex tonight but maybe she will have to actually communicate that.

“I’m not having sex with you tonight, okay?”

She wonders if that’s the only reason he came over and she is suddenly filled with dread. She never intended for the sex to replace everything else they have together and it occurs to her the longer they go without discussing exactly what the hell is going on between them the more intense this concern is going to get.

Does he see her the way she wants to be seen, anymore? As his partner, the scientist, the one person he trusts above anyone? Or does he see her as a romantic partner now, instead?

It’s not that she doesn’t want him here. It’s not even that she doesn’t want to feel like he’s her boyfriend. On the contrary, she kind of likes it. What she’s not sure about is if she’s even supposed to feel this way, if she’s even allowed to.

He looks a bit hurt and she worries she’s been too abrupt. “Scully, I-“

“I’m sorry, that… that came out wrong. I just… I still feel really sore. You understand.”

His hand goes to the back of his neck and he looks uncomfortable, embarrassed, even. He shakes his head. “I overstepped. I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I can go.”

She doesn’t want that. It’s the one thing she knows for sure. She steps forward and takes his hand, squeezes it. “No, Mulder, don’t. I don’t want you to leave. I’m just… letting you know.”

He nods. She takes her robe off and starts to step into the hot water when she notices him watching her intently.

“Jesus, Scully,” he whispers. She looks down and realizes he is seeing the extent of the damage covering her entire body. Bruises from head to toe; most healing fine but definitely a few that look pretty bad.

“I know we were under an external influence, but I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for having done this to you.” He steps forward and softly touches her back. “I would fucking kill anyone who did this to you.”

She turns her neck to look at him over her shoulder. His face looks awful, and not just his cuts and bruises. He looks miserable.

“It’s… a predicament,” he says quietly.

“Mulder, come here.” She stands in the bathtub and reaches for him, and he steps into her outstretched arms. She pulls him against her and holds him. They don’t say anything, because there really isn’t anything to say. Regret is unnecessary. Forgiveness is unnecessary. All of it is cast to the wind.

He puts his arms around her back as gently as he can, and she can smell his leather jacket and his aftershave from the morning. She feels tears welling up in her eyes as he holds her so tenderly and all she can think of is how much she loves him, how much she wants him to know. She could just tell him, but that would be way too easy. Nothing ever comes easy to the two of them.

She pulls back to look at him and her fingers go to the hair on the back of his neck, twirling it softly. As she does this she notices his eyes close, as if he’s really enjoying it. She makes a mental note.

She doesn’t want to have sex, but she does want to be close to him. As close as she can get.

Her fingers dip underneath the collar of his jacket and she slowly slides it off his shoulders, tossing it over the toilet. He smiles and looks at her in understanding as he removes his own shirt and the rest of his clothes. She helps him step into her claw foot tub and settles in front of him, her back to his chest. It’s crowded, but she’s never felt more comfortable in her life. He wraps his arms in front of her and she sighs contentedly.

“This is the best bath I’ve ever been in,” Mulder notes.

“Have you even taken a bath before, Mulder?”

“Not with you.” He trails his fingers along her collarbone and across the tops of her breasts. It feels amazing but she wants to be clear again.

“Mulder…” she says warningly.

“No funny business, I promise,” he says into her ear. “I just want to make up for what I did to you. Put a little balance into the universe.”

She’s never distrusted him before, in any given scenario. Far be it for her to start tonight. She leans back into him and sighs, enjoying the feeling of his hands running softly all over her body.

He kisses her temple, down to her cheek, down her neck and finally to her shoulder. She shivers involuntarily and knows she needs to say what’s on her mind before this leads where she knows it might, regardless of promises and intentions.

“Mulder, I don’t- I don’t know how to say this, exactly, because we haven’t really discussed it. But I have to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

She hesitates. “Ever since we started… this thing,” she begins, “I’ve been wondering what’s changed between us. I don’t think the fundamentals are different, really. But… I wonder.”

“What are you asking me, Scully?”

It’s the most direct he’s been with her, that they’ve been with each other. She’s scared to talk about this but she has to. They’ve always respected each other as equals. She’s not sure why that would change, but thoughts of their history together meshed with thoughts of his head between her thighs has got her confused.

“I’m asking you if sleeping with me has changed the way you see me, Mulder.”

It’s out. She said it. Now all she can do is wait. He is quiet for a moment, but only for a moment.

“I’ve been wondering if and when you were going to ask me that,” he says.

She thought this question might surprise him, or bother him. She doesn’t expect this.

“You have?”

She feels him nodding. “I know you, Scully,” he says. “I know you better than you think I do.”

She smiles and takes one of his hands in her own, kissing it. He does know her. She wonders if he knows she’s in love with him.

“I want to be careful with what I say here, because I’d hate for you to misunderstand. I feel like if I tell you I see you differently you’ll take it as a bad thing.”

She shifts a bit, a little nervous. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought this up in such a vulnerable position.

“But I want you to know the truth, Scully. I’ll always tell you the truth. I’ve been so lucky to learn everything I’ve learned about you over the past few weeks. So lucky.”

She starts to relax a bit.

“Every day I worry it’ll be the day you come to your senses and tell me you want everything to go back to the way it was.”

She laughs a little but he takes her hands in his. “No, I’m serious. Sometimes I think about the way we were before and try to figure out if it’s a distant memory, some forgotten remnant from our past. But it’s not true, Scully, because that part is still here. It never went away when this new ‘us’ arrived.”

She wants to cry because everything he’s saying is the perfect answer, really.

“And I’d never want you to think I’m only interested in the sex, because it’s not true. As fucking fantastic as it’s been,” he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry if I ever come across as… over-eager. It’s been a while, for me. That’s all. So this is all just new and exciting.”

“God, Mulder,” she says. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“I have the gift of gab.” He runs his hands along her arms, then wraps his arms around her, his face close to hers. “Honestly though, I don’t ever want you to worry about that. Okay?”

She nods and leans her face into his. “Okay.”

“No matter what happens, you’re always gonna be Scully. You’ll always be _my_ Scully. That’s never going to change, no matter how many times I see you naked.”

She believes him. And in this moment, she truly believes he loves her too. He’s showing her with every fiber of his being and she wants to hear him say it but maybe he doesn’t have to for her to know the truth.

“Thanks, Mulder.”

“You’re very welcome.” He picks up where he left off and for the next few minutes she just lays in his arms, the water turning from hot to warm, letting him worship her with his fingers. It’s heaven.

Without any funny business occurring they make it out of the tub. He wraps a towel around his waist and then dries her body softly. She lets him. The bath and Mulder have done their magic and she’s feeling better. He wraps her into her towel and places a kiss on her forehead.

“Want to open that wine?” he asks as he pulls his boxers back on.

“Sure,” she says, carefully putting her robe back on.

He heads to the kitchen and grabs two glasses. “Where’s your bottle opener?”

She follows him into the kitchen and pulls the opener out of a drawer, handing it to him wordlessly. He sets the bottle on the counter and starts to open it. The sight of him in her kitchen in his boxer shorts is just too fucking cute and she can’t help herself; she comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his stomach, pressing her cheek against his warm back.

He pours two glasses and hands her one. He swirls the wine around in his glass with an over-the-top pretentious look on his face, smells it deeply, then takes a sip. He looks thoughtful and smacks his lips together a couple times.

“I don’t fucking know,” he laughs. She smiles at him and clinks her glass against his. Definitely not a wine guy.

“Bring the bottle,” she says, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. He sits and so does she, tucking her legs underneath her. His arm is across the back of the couch. She takes a sip of the wine. Not great, but not bad.

“I’m having déjà vu, Mulder,” she says. “We’ve been here before.”

“We have?”

“Well,” she corrects herself. “You weren’t you, and we weren’t _we,_ but it happened all the same.”

He nods, rolling his eyes, remembering Eddie Van BlundHt and all that fiasco entailed. This is the first they’ve spoken of it since it happened.

“Yeah… what was that about, Scully?”

She shrugs. “You were smooth. I didn’t even realize I wanted to see that side of you until I saw it.”

She doesn’t add that this was the exact moment she realized she was in love with him. _That_ would be awkward.

“You probably should have known it wasn’t me,” he points out. “I’ve never been smooth.”

She looks him right in the eye. “I think I wanted to believe it was you.”

His hand is close to her head, and he lifts it to play with her hair a bit. “Honestly, Scully. If I hadn’t shown up…?”

She nods, eyebrows raised. “Yes.”

He scoffs. “Wow.”

“Well, don’t get me started on how relieved I am that you did show up.”

He tilts his head in acquiescence. “Okay, that’s fair.”

They both sit in silence for a minute, sipping the wine. She isn’t sure if it’s the bath, the wine, or just Mulder, but she feels really good for the first time in days. “Hey, thanks for coming over. I feel much better.”

“Any time, Scully.”

“Will you… stay over?”

He looks confused. “But… I thought you said-“

“I mean just _sleep over_. With me. Actual sleep.”

It’s the first time she’s proposing such a scenario. It feels dumb, but she’s still so unsure what they are; what the boundaries are supposed to be. Is just holding her in her bed too intimate?

She’s had Mulder in her bed before, back when the IVF failed. It was a rough night and he’d stayed, holding her while she cried. She can’t help but think of that night and wonders if he’s thinking about it, too.

“We haven’t had a sleepover at your place yet,” he says. She knows what he means.

“Will you stay, then?” she asks.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course.”

They polish off the bottle over the next twenty minutes or so, talking and laughing about old cases. She’s loving every minute of it and thinks of what he said earlier; they truly are still the same. It’s still him, and still her. They are still _them._ The exact fear she had the first night they were together has turned out to be unfounded and the relief she feels is enormous.

After they both brush their teeth together in front of her mirror, which she can’t help but think feels adorably domestic, he crawls under her sheets and pulls her close to him, facing her. She puts her hand on his cheek and kisses him softly.

“Thanks… for being you.”

His hand squeezes her waist. “And thanks for being you.”

He’s still him. She’s still her. They are still _them._

 


	8. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She smiles, and feels a flutter in her stomach. This is so stupid, they’ve already seen each other naked multiple times. They’ve done things to each other’s bodies that quite frankly supersede a first date. But she’s nervous anyway.

**Fight Club**

 

**(2000)**

 

He wakes up and for a moment he isn’t sure where he is. But he feels comfort and warmth in the room; he feels her everywhere, and he remembers he’s at Scully’s.

He looks around her bedroom, meticulous with an air of softness, just like her. The morning light is practically golden in here. He likes it much better than his lonely apartment; dark no matter how many blinds he opens, no matter how many lights he turns on. His entire life he’s felt mostly darkness, but when he’s with her the light always reappears. It’s strange, but he’s starting to come around to the idea that strange is good.

She’s sleeping soundly next to him. The bruises and cuts on her face look better today, as if his mere presence has helped, and he smiles with relief. He just looks at her for a while, admiring and appreciating her beauty. It’s something he hasn’t really been able to do before, at least not without appearing like a creep. Just one more thing he can add to the list of things he’s increasingly aware he doesn’t deserve.

He wants to touch her but she looks so peaceful he wouldn’t dare wake her. He slips out of bed, _Scully’s bed,_ he thinks with a smile, and quietly goes into her bathroom. When he returns he slips back next to her as quietly as he can manage but she opens an eye.

“Sorry, I was trying to be quiet,” he says. She just smiles and leans in to kiss him. He’s pleased she seems to think they’ve gotten to a place where she’s no longer so concerned about morning breath.

“Come here,” she says, and pulls him in close against her, snuggling into his chest.

“How you feeling?” he asks, his face pressed into her hair.

“Really good, actually,” she says. She definitely sounds good. “You?”

“Fantastic,” he says sarcastically, and as emphasis he winces a bit, exhaling. “Nope. Still feel like hell.”

She chuckles a bit and sighs against him. He holds her tight, her leg pressing up against him, and hopes that if his body responds she welcomes it. After last night he wants to make sure he’s reading her correctly.

He doesn’t have to wonder long because after a few seconds she pushes him gently onto his back and reaches into his boxers, wrapping her fingers fully around him. She looks him right in the eyes and starts to stroke him gently.

“I thought you weren’t feeling up to this,” he says.

“That was last night,” she says with a smirk.

“Okay, just- ah,” he winces. She jerks her hand away. “No, it’s okay, just… be careful.” She nods and this time lightly touches him with her fingertips, trailing along his length, over and over. He feels himself spring to life in her hand and has a fleeting thought that it’s the only way he’s meant to.

He closes his eyes and groans, enjoying her touch, trying to ignore his muscles aching, pain reverberating throughout his body. But he’s been dying to touch her as well. He rolls onto his side and unbuttons her pajama top, sliding it over her shoulder, revealing one perfect breast for the taking. He cups it in his hand softly, his thumb gently circling her nipple. Her eyes close in response to his touch, and he can feel her nipple harden beneath his hand.

She stops stroking him, as her touch, and his own on her, have done their respective duties. She rolls onto her back and he takes the hint, kneeling above her and opening her top to reveal both breasts, nipples taut and pink waiting for him.

Her eyes open and he looks into them again briefly before taking her nipple into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue while lightly pinching the other. She bucks and moans softly beneath him and her sounds are of both pleasure and of pain. Mostly pleasure, he hopes.

“Is this okay?” he asks. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“It’s all… very good, Mulder. Don’t stop.”

He obeys but suckles softly anyway, using his fingers to give her the same light touch she gave him moments ago. He can still see bruising on her chest and abdomen and will be careful regardless of what she says.

She moans softly as his mouth nibbles and pulls, moving from one nipple to the other. He suddenly wishes he had a second mouth and tries to keep an image of the Great Mutato from invading his mind at this most inopportune moment, unsuccessfully. He laughs quietly to himself.

“What is it?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” he says, and goes in for another mouthful, circling her nipple with his tongue. He can’t decide which part of her tastes best, and between the taste of her and the sight of her and the sounds she’s making it’s a veritable feast for his senses.

He pulls her pajama bottoms and panties off as he sits back to look at her, and she looks back at him with those eyes that will never stop drawing him into her further and further. She’s sprawled on her back, glistening peaks at full attention; so fucking gorgeous, bruises or not.

He could sit here just looking at her forever but it’s as if her body is beckoning him. He reaches out to hold her breasts with both his hands, filling them perfectly. He marvels at this for a moment as he gently caresses them and watches her face as she responds to him. She says his name so softly that he has to believe it’s to herself, and not for his benefit. This idea sets his insides ablaze and he is so unbelievably hard it’s painful, but the pain is exquisite.

His mind fills with thoughts of how lucky he is once again, and how if he’d told himself a few weeks ago he’d have his hands on Dana Scully’s breasts he’d have laughed in his own face, despite his willingness to believe most things. This entire situation seems less likely than Big Blue swimming around in some faraway lake, and if possible, even more supernatural.

He lets his eyes roam over her body, a minefield of bruises and trauma more painful to him than it is to her, he’s certain of that much. His ribs still hurt a lot, but he wants to make up for what he did, somehow. So he leans over and lightly kisses every bruise on her body, starting with her neck, moving down to her breasts, her arms and ribcage, down her thighs to her legs. 

“Can you turn over?”

She narrows her eyes a bit but obeys, pulling a pillow underneath her torso. Her back looks just as bad as her front and he can’t help but flinch.

“Do you remember anything, Scully? Because I don’t.”

She shakes her head. He lays his hands on her back, palms down, and can feel heat radiating off her skin. “Does this hurt?”

“I’m fine, Mulder. It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.”

He drags his fingers down her back and she shivers a bit and sighs. “That feels really good,” she says lazily, half into the pillow. He repeats the action over and over until she starts to giggle a little bit.

He smiles. “I didn’t know you were ticklish, Scully.” He keeps doing it because he truly believes her laugh could raise the dead. She recoils a bit but can’t stop laughing.

“Wow, I think this may actually be the greatest moment of my life. Right now,” he says, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “Discovering that you’re ticklish.”

“Stoooooop,” she groans into the pillow. As much as he loves to hear her laugh, he doesn’t want to kill the mood. So his hands move lower, down her lower back across the perfect curve of her ass. He hasn’t had a chance to properly appreciate it yet, right in front of him, bathed in this morning light.

“Scully.”

“Yeah?”

“You should know your ass is perfection.”

She exhales into her pillow, but he can tell she’s smiling. He lightly trails his hands over it, squeezing it just enough to keep himself from coming in his boxer shorts immediately, which wouldn’t be beneficial to anyone. He quickly realizes he’s more than ready to move this along so he gives her a light slap and she takes the hint, turning back over.

She pulls him down for another kiss and seems more than eager for whatever he’s got up his sleeve. But he continues covering her body with soft kisses. His plan was to move down her legs but her scent has found him, intoxicating him, making him feral with desire.

He opens her legs slowly and lightly drags his fingertips down her thighs, close to where he knows she wants him the most, but not touching her there, not yet. She shivers beneath him in anticipation but he’s certain he’s looking forward to this more than she is. He grips her thighs gently and brings his mouth close, so close he can feel her twitch, and breathes onto her.

“Mulder…” he hears, and she arches into his mouth with want. He breathes onto her again, even closer, and her hands clutch the sheets in desperation as she waits for him.

He decides not to torment her anymore, especially considering her current state of pain. He enters her with just the tip of his tongue, flicking delicately the way he knows she likes it. From the way she’s writhing it seems like he’s being much more aggressive than he is, and he’s starting to learn that maybe with Scully sometimes less is more.

He moves his tongue inside her more insistently, and he’s barely gotten started when he feels his hair getting pulled roughly and her knees are closing on his head as she grinds into his mouth. His name escapes her lips; an invocation as always, repeated verification that he is here with her, that this is all real, that he can believe it.

“Mulder… get up here, now,” she breathes.

“Did you… wait, did you come?”

“No, I want to wait for you.”

He moves back up to look her in the face, and reaches a hand down between her thighs. She’s so impossibly wet, and he’s so turned on he suspects she won’t have to wait for very long. She arches her hips into him, her need evident. He responds in kind, flicking her most sensitive spot with his thumb, as he removes his boxers and discards them.

It's new and different being here in her bedroom like this, especially in the morning. The light streaming through her window is bright, and he can see her facial features even more clearly. He can see tiny freckles there that he hasn’t really noticed before, like some constellation that can only be visible to the naked eye certain times of year. Her eyes are closed and her mouth partially open, and her head rocks back and forth on the pillow. Seeing her react to his touch, what he can do to her, makes him even harder. Her moaning is getting more intense. Suddenly he feels her hand on him, guiding him towards her.

Without missing a beat he removes his hand and in rhythm plunges himself deeply inside her. Her eyes fly open and she grasps the back of his neck. It hurts like hell but he’s enjoying the pain.

He rocks into her over and over and hopes he isn’t hurting her, but he knows she would tell him if he was. After a few more thrusts she grabs his face and pulls it to hers, drinking him in as she spasms around him. A few seconds later he follows and wraps his arms around her torso, rolling them both to their sides, as they breathe heavily.

“I think…” he pants after several moments, “I might miss work a little bit.”

She smiles and cranes her neck to look at him. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m thinking about inappropriate things at inappropriate moments,” he laughs.

“Is this the thing I don’t want to know?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I brought it up. I just didn’t want you to… misunderstand.”

She squeezes him tightly. “I’m anxious to get back too but I have to admit I’m enjoying the hell out of this. As a rule, you and I haven’t generally had this much fun on our off time.”

“What?” He sounds affronted. “Hunting ghosts with me isn’t fun? Following up covert military aircraft sources? None of that was fun?”

She sighs. “Yes, all of that was fun. But you have to admit it would have been more fun if we’d included the sex.”

“True,” he agrees thoughtfully. “It’s strange to suddenly have a social life.”

She laughs. “Strange is good, right?”

“Strange is very good, Scully. Always has been with us.”

 

***

 

It’s a Saturday and it’s been a couple days since she and Mulder have seen each other. They’d been given the week to recover from their injuries but were expected back at work Monday barring any developments. After Mulder had mentioned missing work, she was able to allow herself to miss it as well. It’s been such a change these past few weeks with her mind consumed by her relationship with him, and all its wonders and uncertainties.

She isn’t used to focusing on her social life more than her work life. It’s a welcome change, but a change nonetheless.

She’s just settled down at the computer, ready to do some research on statistics involving the Kansas City case, when the phone rings. Her landline, which has been ringing less and less frequently over the years, as her cell phone has taken precedence.

Her mother or a telemarketer, probably, she muses as she answers.

“Hello?”

_“Yeah, hi… Dana Scully, please?”_

She can tell it’s him, even though his voice sounds a bit different. _What the fuck is he doing?_ “This is she.”

_“Yeah, hi, this is Fox Mulder, we work together at the Bureau. Maybe you’ve seen me around?”_

She smiles. “Hi.”

_“Well, I was just wondering if I could take you out tonight. You know, like a date.”_

“A date? Like… a real date?” She’s so surprised at this suggestion she’s not sure how to respond.

_“Yes, Scully. A date. I’ll pick you up and everything.”_

“Mulder, don’t you have some super important UFO sighting research you’re supposed to be doing with the Gunmen tonight?

_“Cancelled.”_

She smiles, and feels a flutter in her stomach. This is so stupid, they’ve already seen each other naked multiple times. They’ve done things to each other’s bodies that quite frankly supersede a first date. But she’s nervous anyway.

“Then… okay.”

 _“I’ll pick you up at seven.”_ She hears him grinning on the other end of the line. _“And nothing fancy. I’m hoping to see Casual Scully make a rare appearance tonight.”_

 

***

 

He arrives promptly at her apartment at seven. She smoothes out her light blue sweater which she’d worn over some nice jeans, attempting to be casual but cognizant of the fact that this _is_ their first date and she wants to be mindful of that. He knocks on the door and doesn’t enter, behaving as if they’d never really met before or went anywhere or did anything together and she can’t help but find it adorable.

He takes her to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant near DuPont Circle that serves Philly cheesesteak sandwiches. He pulls her chair out for her and everything.

She watches him take a bite of his sandwich, grinning at her. He’s wearing a blue T shirt with his leather jacket and she’s painfully aware that they match right now. She might throw up at how cute they are.

“You know why I brought you here, don’t you?” he asks as they dig in. She isn’t really sure, although the food is delicious.

“Not really,” she admits.

“Remember the Howard Graves case? Philadelphia? Way back in the day?”

She does, but…

“We went to see the Liberty Bell, remember? Then we went out for these.” He takes another bite and grins.

“And you’re… recreating that evening? Nice,” she smiles. She does remember that night. It was one of the first real conversations they’d ever had about real life stuff. But she’s curious why he picked that particular evening to recreate.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m not saying this out of regret, or sadness, or any of that. But _that_ was the night.”

“...What was the night?” she asks, a bit nervously.

“That was the night I should have kissed you, Scully.” He looks her right in the eye. “That should have been our first date.”

She wonders about this. How much would be different if that had happened? _Maybe too much_ , she thinks. They might be different people now if they hadn’t had the opportunity to build their friendship the way they had. They might be different together. How many situations would she have behaved differently in? How many would he? How many times would they have put the work second?

 _No,_ she thinks.

“I think our first date is perfect the way it is, Mulder.” He grins and nods, and his eyes are soft in agreement. They continue eating for a bit when Mulder gets up to grab some more napkins. While he’s away, a young waitress approaches Scully and leans down next to her.

“Are you okay, ma’am? Do you need me to call anyone?”

Scully is confused for a moment and then realizes the injuries that look much better to her probably make her look like a battered housewife to an outsider. Most of Mulder’s are healed or more difficult to see.

She smiles and reassures her. “Oh… yes, I’m fine, thank you. I’m an FBI agent.” She shows her badge. “Injured in the line of duty. He’s my partner. Everything is fine.”

The young woman looks a bit skeptical but nods. “Okay, then. Is everything okay with your meal?”

Mulder returns just then with the napkins and sits.

“Everything is delicious. And, miss?” she touches the girl’s forearm. “I do appreciate your concern. Thank you.”

The waitress smiles, then smiles at Mulder, then departs.

“What was that about?” he asks.

She gestures at the bruises. “Probably should’ve put on more makeup.”

“Ah,” he grimaces.

“I’ve never flashed my badge on a date before.”

“How many dates have you gone on since you had a badge to flash, Scully?” he chuckles.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

He laughs, probably aware that he’s one to talk. He hands her some napkins and they finish up.

“So, are you taking me to the Liberty Bell next?” she asks in jest.

He shakes his head. “Nope. Better, I hope.”

 

_***_

 

They walk along the National Mall, the sky dark and a soft chill in the air. It’s late April and it’s been seasonably warm but the evenings are still trying to shake winter loose. She shivers a bit and he takes off his jacket to put it around her shoulders.

“Mulder, don’t. You have a T shirt on.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me. I just want you comfortable.”

She smiles. “Where are you taking me? You know most of the touristy stuff is closed.”

It’s pretty late and the mall is pretty much empty. The only people she sees are other couples walking hand in hand, sitting on benches together, enjoying the evening. Couples that probably don’t have half the baggage they do. She has a brief thought that maybe tomorrow, or the next day, they will be back in action somewhere, risking their lives yet again.

His hands are in his pockets and he gazes at her for a second. She wonders what he’s up to.

“It is okay if I hold your hand, Scully?”

Her breath catches in her chest and she’s confused. The request is so juvenile, but he’s made her feel this way the entire evening with his adorable gestures and first-date playacting. It’s just strange, considering the intensity of the sex they’d shared the last time they were together.

In answer, she takes his hand in her own and smiles. He grins back and leads her out onto the lawn behind the Washington Monument. He takes her to the very center of the lawn and stops, turns, and takes both her hands in his.

“Lincoln Memorial to the west,” he says, pointing his arm towards it. “Jefferson to the south. Capitol building to the East. White House up north. And Washington smack in the middle, right where we are.”

She grins. “Are we here for a history lesson, Mulder?”

“Nope, not what we’re here for. Besides, there’s nothing I could teach you, you know all this shit anyway.” She laughs and looks down, then back up at him.

“I wanted to bring you here tonight because it’s right in the center of the city, right in the middle of the action, so to speak. Kind of like you and me, most of the time.”

She smiles and tilts her head, realizing that for right now he’s really being Mulder and she’s really being Scully and they aren’t play-acting anymore. Whatever he’s trying to communicate to her, he’s put thought and effort into it. It’s yet another side of him she’s thrilled to see.

“I know it’s only been a few weeks since we’ve been doing... this thing, but we both know situations are going to come up for us that throw us right back into the middle of it. Times when… regardless of how we feel about each other, the work will come first.”

“I know,” she assures him. “I’ve considered that. It’s… a package deal with us, I think.”

He nods in understanding and they smile at one another.

“I just want you to remember when that happens,” he continues, “you and me, standing here. Surrounded by all this history, all this activity, even the shady shit we know is going on behind most of these doors. The stuff only you and I could uncover. I want us both to remember standing here together, just you and me, like this. Quietly.”

It’s romantic, but it also isn’t. It goes to the very heart of what they are together, and she loves these moments when she’s reminded of that; when she knows they both know that part is still here.

She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again, not sure why. She wants to tell him she loves him so badly but when she looks into his eyes all her resolve weakens.

 _This is so stupid,_ she thinks. If this were any other normal relationship, four weeks in would be way too soon for that. But they are four weeks and seven years in. Doesn’t that count for something? Shouldn’t it?

They’ve been so good so far at working out the potentially problematic concerns in this new endeavor of theirs. So why is the emotional aspect so damn difficult?

They’ve begun this game without discussing or even knowing the rules. They’re making it up as they go along.

The truth of the matter is she’s never been more terrified of anything in her entire life. Donnie Pfaster. Gerry Schnauz. The cancer man. In those situations she feared for her life.

But Mulder is her whole world. Saying the wrong thing could destroy that. Losing him would be unthinkable. She’s so happy right now, she can’t take that risk. Not yet. So she just keeps her mouth shut, again, and enjoys the now.

They haven’t kissed yet tonight, and there hasn’t been a more perfect moment. He seems to think so too, and leans in to cap off their evening with a perfect nighttime Washington D.C. skyline kiss. They’re in public, and even though there aren’t many people around she’s a bit hesitant at first. But his hand cups the back of her head gently and she sinks into it, powerless. He teeters on the line of acceptably appropriate PDA behavior and pulls away just when she suspects he might fall off it.

Her eyes remain closed just for a bit, then she opens them and smiles at him. “This was a perfect first date, Mulder. Thank you.”

“I only got one shot at it, so I appreciate that,” he grins. They cross the lawn, hand in hand.

 

***

 

They arrive back at her place a bit later. She unlocks the door and walks inside, but he doesn’t follow.

“What are you doing?” she asks. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

He leans against the doorframe, still not crossing the threshold. His eyes narrow suggestively. “That would be pretty presumptuous of me, for a first date.”

Her eyebrow goes up. “Mulder. You can drop the act now, okay? You’ve been incredibly charming. It worked.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want to kiss me goodnight right here and then wonder if I’m thinking about you later?”

“As fun as that sounds,” she says, “I think it would be more fun if you stayed.”

“Also presumptuous.”

She decides to play along, taking a step closer to him. “I don’t know you very well yet, Fox Mulder from the Bureau, but from the way you kiss, I’d be willing to take a gamble.”

He makes a thoughtful face, and after a moment it morphs back into the Mulder she knows and loves.

“You talked me into it,” he says, and she takes his hand and pulls him inside laughing, closing the door behind them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Liberty bell "date," you can go [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34116579#workskin)


	9. First Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Mulder.”
> 
> He looks up. “Yeah?”
> 
> “You have to shower, don’t you?” Her eyebrows go up, his pants go back down. 
> 
> “Did I ever tell you how much efficiency turns me on, Scully?”

**Je Souhaite**

**(2000)**

 

The last week has been perfect. After their first date Saturday night, they spent most of Sunday in Scully’s apartment in various states of undress. The work week has also been productive, and aside from one possibly ill-advised tryst in the bathroom down the hall from their office, they’ve managed to keep their hands off each other.

Every night after work, they sleep at her place. Mulder says he prefers it there, but has never really explained why.

On Wednesday night, he tells her he has to go home for fear of his fish dying. She doesn’t mind the idea of a little space anyway, and agrees. But she hasn’t been able to fall asleep. It’s strange how empty her bed feels tonight. She’s gotten so used to having him in it the past few nights, it felt normal so quickly.

She’s reminded of how it was when they first met, how quickly his presence took over her life, how quickly she allowed it to. Even then her heart knew what it was doing well before her brain did.

Just then her phone rings. She rolls over to look at the clock; it’s 2:25. She answers the phone.

“Can’t sleep either?” she asks.

_“How’d you know it was me?”_

She rolls her eyes. “It’s 2:30 in the morning, Mulder. You’re the only person I know without any imbued common courtesy.”

 _“I take great offense at that, Scully,”_ he says, but she knows he’s smiling. _“Besides, you’re the only one I’d bother at this hour.”_

“I’m honored.”

_“Anyway. I can’t sleep, I’m lying here tossing and turning and something occurred to me.”_

“What’s that?”

_“That I’m a very troubled sleeper.”_

“This only just occurred to you, Mulder?”

_“No, no. You’re missing my point.”_

“...Apparently?”

_“I’ve always been a troubled sleeper. I don’t know why.”_

She briefly wonders if this is why Mulder has always slept on his couch. That it’s somehow more comfortable for him to be less comfortable. It sounds right for some reason.

“I’m still not following you.”

_“I’m saying, the past few nights at your place, with you, I’ve slept like a baby.”_

She’s quiet for a minute, letting this sink in. He’s right. Falling asleep in his arms has been such a nice change for her, too. She’s been so used to being lonely she’d convinced herself it’s what she wanted.

_Loneliness is a choice._

But it isn’t. At least, it’s not _her_ choice. Being with him these past few weeks has proven that philosophy completely inaccurate.

“You’re right. I hadn’t really thought of that. It’s been nice having you here, Mulder.”

_“It’s been nice being there.”_

She smiles and for a moment really absorbs and acknowledges how good it feels to not be lonely for once. He must feel it, too. It’s as if they gave themselves a gift when they made the choice to be together in this way. It’s forced them to confront that loneliness head on.

She wants to tell him she misses him right now, that she doesn’t want to be lonely tonight. She wants to tell him she wishes he were here, in her bed, his arms around her, his lips on her skin, his breath in her ear. She wants to tell him she loves him.

“So… how are the fish?”

_Ugh. Coward._

_“They survived. I don’t think they’re very happy with me for pursuing a social life.”_

She grins. “Well, I’m happy you are.”

_“So am I.”_

They are both silent for several moments. She doesn’t want to hang up, but she can’t think of what else to say. Finally, he does it for her.

_“Scully?”_

“Yeah?”

_“I’d really like to be able to fall asleep tonight, wouldn’t you?”_

She grins. “Yeah, it would be nice.”

_“Can you get up and let me in already?”_

Confused, she pauses for a moment. “Wait, what?”

There’s a soft knock at the door. Her heart leaps in her chest and she throws the covers off, getting to the door as quickly as possible. She throws it open and he’s standing there, phone to his ear. He hangs up and comes inside.

“Finally,” he says impatiently.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t answered the phone?”

He shrugged. “Gone home and not slept, I guess.”

She wraps her arms around him and holds him close, his shirt cool from having just been outside. Then she takes his hand and they walk back to her bedroom.

“You did actually come over to sleep, right?” she smiles.

“Yes, I did. For now, at least.”

He removes his pants and crawls into her bed, and the relief and happiness she feels when he pulls her in close, surrounding her with his arms, entwining their legs, is beyond measure. She feels him breathing against the back of her neck and closes her eyes. It’s almost as if his body has some magical power to lull her to sleep. She feels calm and content.

“This is much better,” he says into her ear.

“It is. Thanks for coming over.”

“Goodnight, Scully.”

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

They are both fast asleep within minutes.

 

***

 

She wakes exactly where she fell asleep, in his arms, snuggled into him. He must already be awake because she feels him moving and he squeezes her tight, kissing the back of her neck. She’s suddenly horny as hell and puts his hands on her breasts, scooting her backside into him.

“I have to go home,” he says.

“What? Why?” She turns around in his arms.

“I was in such a hurry to get over here I didn’t bring any clothes. I don’t have a suit here.”

“Mulder. Are you serious? Is this what an Oxford education gets you?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He rolls back to look at her bedside clock. “Can I make it up to you later? Movie night at my place?”

“I guess so,” she says, trying not to sound disappointed. She fails miserably. He kisses her forehead and starts to roll away, out of the bed. As he bends over to pull his jeans on, she props her head up, laying on her elbow.

“Hey, Mulder.”

He looks up. “Yeah?”

“You have to shower, don’t you?” Her eyebrows go up, his pants go back down.

 “Did I ever tell you how much efficiency turns me on, Scully?”

She grins. He strips naked and so does she, and he walks over to the bed, letting her climb onto him like a monkey. She throws her arms around his neck and he walks them both to her bathroom.

“This would actually be easier if I set you down,” he says, as he attempts to turn the shower on.

“Here, let me,” she offers, and he sets her down inside. The water comes out freezing at first and she squeals but his lips are on hers instantly and she doesn’t feel cold anymore.

They haven’t done this before. The last time they showered together was before the Winston-Salem case at Mulder’s apartment, and it involved actual showering, for the most part. She’s been dying to try it.

She turns him around so the water hits his back and he walks her into the wall. Their height differences are a problem and he picks her up, pinning her against the tile wall as she wraps her legs around him. His tongue glides into her mouth, and she reciprocates. She can feel his hardness pressing against her, and the water is now warm, and getting hotter.

He moves his hips a bit, rubbing against her in exactly the right spot and she clenches her thighs around his middle. She moans into his mouth, and for a moment thinks maybe she’ll just let herself come exactly like this. But she’s been making an active effort to slow down with him, and even though she knows he’s in a hurry she wants to make this last just a little longer.

“Put me down, okay?”

He does, and she holds her body flush against his, kissing his chest, which is level with her face. She reaches around him to pick up the soap and lathers her hands up. The water is streaming down his chest, and she rubs her hands over his pectoral muscles, moving down his arms to his stomach. He’s in good shape, as always. She traces the lines across his abdomen and unconsciously bites her lip as she does so. Her hands roam around to his back, and his shoulders, exploring their every contour as well. She grabs his ass and looks up at him, smiling. Then she holds the soap out to him expectantly.

He takes it and motions for her to turn around, which she does, her back to his chest, his dick hard against her. He rubs the soap between his hands and sets it down, then runs his hands along her shoulders, down her arms, then over her breasts, massaging gently. She reaches over her head and holds onto the back of his neck as he leans around her, turning her head to kiss him over her shoulder. He flicks and pinches her nipples and she’s experiencing such euphoria she’s having trouble focusing on all this multitasking.

“Oh my god, Mulder,” she breathes, and feels his erection behind her, getting harder by the second. Keeping one hand on her breast, he moves the other down between her legs and she widens her stance, allowing him access. He dips two fingers inside while rolling a nipple around with his other fingers and still kissing her, the hot water dripping down their bodies creating almost too many sensations for her to handle at once.

With one hand still behind his neck, she lowers the other behind her, between their bodies, desperate to have her fingers around him. She strokes him firmly, and he responds in kind by flicking her clit with his thumb.

It’s driving her crazy and she feels like they are in some kind of competition, the winner being whoever makes the other come first. She starts to turn and he removes his hand, and when she is facing him once again she puts her hands on his chest and pushes him back directly underneath the stream of hot water.

She gently pushes his shoulders down, and they sit on the floor of the shower together, the hot water now pummeling against her breasts directly. He takes in this sight and groans as she sinks down onto him, joining their bodies. With her hands on his shoulders, she leans away to treat him to the view he’s enjoying so much, tilting her head back and grinding into him for all she’s worth.

He holds her ass and helps her along, pulling her into him as she moves, harder and harder and the water is in their faces and his hands move to her breasts and she calls out his name over and over, echoing loudly in the hollow shower stall. Suddenly she no longer cares who wins, she just wants to come, needs to come right the fuck now.

Before she can, he pulls her into his chest and she feels his knees buckle underneath her as he empties inside of her. He utters her name into her ear and it’s all it takes. Sometimes his voice is all she needs. She clamps down and cries out, her body spasming around him. They both cling to each other under the hot water for a moment and then she smiles against his chest.

“Was that efficient enough for you?” she asks.

He runs his fingers up and down her back, breathing heavily.

“Fuck, yes.”

She runs her fingers through his wet hair and kisses him again. She can’t stop smiling. How did her life get so good so quickly?

“I don’t want to move, Mulder. How much time do you have?”

“It’s fine. Just stay here.”

The tile floor is digging into her knees but she doesn’t care; every other part of her is alight with bliss, as they hold each other under the rush of hot water, steam floating around their bodies. She moves her face next to his and kisses his cheek, resting her chin on his shoulder. He adjusts his arms to hold her more tightly and she closes her eyes, enjoying his nearness, this connectedness, knowing they couldn’t possibly be physically closer than they are right now. She can feel their hearts pounding together, in sync, and every single time they make love she wonders _is this it? Is this the time he will say it?_

But he still says nothing, and neither does she. The love remains where it has for the past few weeks; stuck somewhere between their minds and their mouths.

She wonders if it will start getting easier or harder? She knows she won’t stop, she cannot stop loving him. She’s addicted to him, to this new version of him that loves her with his body but not with his words.

Why can’t he love her with his words?

She worries she might start to cry and realizes her emotions are incredibly heightened seeing as he’s currently still inside of her.

“You’d better go,” she says into his ear, but doesn’t make a move to release him, clinging to him even tighter. She wonders if the theory about women getting more attached emotionally because of higher levels of oxytocin is true, that maybe there’s some chemical explanation for why she feels this way.

Even if there is an explanation, she knows it isn’t going to go away. She can’t hypothesize her way out of this predicament.

“Yeah, I should. I really can’t be late. Kersh has been on my ass lately.”

“Don’t talk about Kersh while you’re inside me, Mulder.”

“Sorry.”

He laughs and she starts to extract herself, helping him up. They stand in the running water for a moment and she touches his chest, looking up at him.

“Did you get clean enough?” she asks, smiling.

“I highly doubt it, Scully,” he says as he curls his arm around her waist and leans her backwards, planting a kiss on her lips. He steps out and towels off, and she stays behind to finish up, not really wanting to watch him go. It’s fucking ridiculous, she’s going to see him in an hour.

She washes her hair and rinses, then gets out of the shower to dry off. She goes into the living room in her bathrobe. He’s dressed and in the kitchen, making coffee.

“I’m gonna go, but this should be ready in a few.”

“You’re not staying for the coffee you made?” she asks.

“I made it for you,” he says, taking her shoulders in his hands and giving her a quick peck on the lips.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see you in a bit. I think we have an appointment of some kind this morning.” He heads to the door.

“With who?”

He shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Hey, Mulder,” she calls as he opens the door. He turns and looks at her.

“Thanks for the shower,” she grins.

He smiles back. “Thank _you.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scully enters the office in the opening scene of “Je Souhaite” in a very good mood. We all know why.


	10. First Netflix and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s your first wish, Scully?” he asks as he slides his hands downwards inside her pants, squeezing as much of her backside as he can get his hands around.
> 
> “Oh, is this what we’re doing?” She smiles into his mouth, then moves around to nibble his earlobe. He adjusts himself beneath her and groans.
> 
> “If we can make it to three,” he answers.

**Je Souhaite**

 

**(2000)**

 

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I never made the world a happier place.”

“Well… _I’m_ fairly happy. That’s something,” she replies honestly.

They relax on his couch, another grueling case finished, _Caddyshack_ insisting upon them in the background. When he tells her he used his final wish to set the _jinni_ free, it doesn’t surprise her at all, but she does laugh at the cheesiness of this whole thing. He puts his arm around her and pulls her in close, kissing the top of her head.

“Give me a break, all right? It was the right thing to do.”

Of course he’d use his final wish to set her free. It was such a Mulder thing to do. Her, on the other hand…

“I can think of a few things I’d have asked for,” she admits.

“Like what?”

She knows Mulder blew his first two wishes trying to achieve world peace. And she can’t be selfish when it comes to these things, especially after the little speech she gave him earlier about not attempting to fix the world’s problems with a single wish. But thoughts of her infertility, thoughts of all the terrible things that have happened to them both can’t help but invade her mind. To be able to erase so much with a simple wish… the thought is tempting, however unrealistic.

She’s starting to believe some way, somehow, none of it was even real at all, anyway. It happens to her occasionally.

She looks up at him, then turns back to the TV, sipping her beer, and smiles to herself. “I’ll never tell.”

“Well, I’ve already got the only thing I’d have wished for,” he says, smiling at her.  
  
_Why is he so fucking cute?_

“You know, I never thought of you as a romantic. You really keep me guessing, Mulder.”

He narrows his eyes at her in that way that makes her entire body tingle. Setting his beer on the table, he leans in and kisses her, one hand around her shoulders and the other taking her own bottle out of her hand, setting it on the coffee table. He sweeps a strand of her hair behind her ear, then gently holds her face as he kisses her as if it were incredibly fragile. As strong a woman as she is, she enjoys this from time to time; his gentleness.

“What do I have to do to get you to tell me, Scully?” he asks, pulling back.

She makes an exaggerated ‘thoughtful’ face. “I can think of so many things.”

“Anything you want,” he says as he leans in to kiss her neck, then pulls back again abruptly. “Within reason, of course.”

She laughs as he goes back into her neck. “Hmm. I think you’re doing everything right so far.”

His hand goes underneath her sweater, softly caressing her ribcage, his thumb lightly brushing the underside of her breast. He kisses her softly but his intent is clear, and sex with Mulder sounds so infinitely better than watching _Caddyshack_ that she quickly shifts her body over his, straddling his lap and removing her shirt in one sweeping motion.

“Oh come on, Scully. I thought we were having a movie night,” he smiles. She kisses him again in response, the taste of beer and salt on his lips.

“You started it,” she points out.

“I lied, by the way. My final wish was for you, naked in my lap.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she simpers. “I’m so sorry you wasted all three of your wishes.”

“Who says it was a waste?” He gestures to her like ‘ _duh_.’

She laughs and goes in for more, she will never stop going in for more. She cups his face with both her hands and gently sucks on his bottom lip.

“What’s your first wish, Scully?” he asks as he slides his hands downwards inside her pants, squeezing as much of her backside as he can get his hands around.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing?” She smiles into his mouth, then moves around to nibble his earlobe. He adjusts himself beneath her and groans.

“If we can make it to three,” he answers.

She’s game. She teases his earlobe with her tongue as she begins. “Okay… my first wish is to turn off this fucking movie.”

He groans again, and she can tell he’s straining painfully inside his jeans.

“That’s a huge waste of a wish, Scully. Come on.”

“Trust me, it isn’t,” she says. She holds onto him as he leans forward to reach for the remote, wincing in pain, and hits the mute button.

“Is that acceptable?” he asks, cringing again as he leans back against the couch.

“Sure.”

“I don’t think you’re giving _Caddyshack_ a fair shake, Scully. You know, everybody gets laid in the end.”

“I’ve seen it,” she says. “I’d rather we both just get laid at the beginning.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Excellent point.”

“Okay, your turn.”

“Hang on a second,” he says, and starts to undo his jeans. She stops him with her hand.

“Oh, no. You didn’t make a wish.”

He tilts his head at her and makes a face. “Oh come on, I have to wish to take my pants off?”

She shrugs. “If that’s what you want. I didn’t make up the rules, Mulder.”

“It certainly sounds that way,” he grumbles. “You got to take your shirt off.”

“That was before we started.”

“At this rate we’ll go through all the wishes before we get anywhere.”

“Let’s just see what happens,” she says, smiling.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes. He’s been doing that a lot lately. She’s pleased she seems to have rubbed off on him a bit. “I wish for _you_ to take my pants off.” He very showily arcs his hands behind his head and leans back in anticipation.

She smiles and unbuttons his jeans, slowly and carefully unzipping them. He exhales with relief as she slides his pants all the way off and climbs back onto his lap.

“Look at that,” she says playfully, gesturing to his impressive erection. “I won’t need my second wish.”

He leans in to kiss her and she stops him again. “Wow, you are _really_ bad at this game, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Look at you.”

“Okay. I think you’re going to like my second wish, Mulder.”

“Lay it on me.”

She leans in close to his ear and whispers softly.

“ _I wish… for you to make me come.”_

His eyebrows soar and he grins wickedly. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

He lifts her off his lap and onto the couch next to him so quickly she yelps, and she lays back giggling in anticipation. He pulls everything off her as fast as possible and before she even has a chance to make a clever remark his tongue is inside her, lapping up every last ounce of her resolve. Her legs are up over his shoulders and her hands grip the leather couch.

“Fairly happy, Scully?” he grins as he works his magic. “I make you _fairly_ happy? We’ll see about that.”

It never takes him long, and as she expects, he has her coming more quickly than any genie ever could. He lifts himself up on his forearms and watches her.

“...Mulder.” It’s all she manages to get out.

“...Yeah?”

She breathes heavily for a moment. “Are you _sure_ you don’t have some kind of magical power?”

“Pretty sure.”

She chuckles softly, staring at the ceiling, the green light from his fish tank casting a spatter of luminescence on the walls. It still amazes her how good he is with his mouth.

“I don’t know. I think you must be a wizard of some kind. No other way to explain it.”

“You, Scully?” he asks incredulously.

“You caught me at a vulnerable moment.”

His face appears over her, leaning down for a kiss, then he rests his head on her stomach.

“Your turn,” she says, ruffling his hair.

“Am I really only on my second?” he asks. She nods, smiling. “I have severely underestimated this game’s potential, Scully.”

“What’s your second wish, then?” she asks.

He moves to kiss her thigh. “That _was_ my second wish. Guess I’m gonna have to call an audible.”

“I’m waiting.”

He sits up and looks thoughtful. “Hmmm.”

She laughs. “I think I know.”

“You _are_ a bit of a know-it-all.”

“Say it, Mulder.”

He extends both arms along the back of the couch and narrows his eyes. “I wish that you would make _me_ fairly happy, too.”

She smiles and doesn’t have to ask what he means. She gets down onto the floor and situates herself between his knees. Then she leans forward, slips his boxers down over his bulging erection and circles his tip with her tongue, teasing him. She meets his eyes for just a moment and just as she hears him groan she plunges down upon him, using her hand to help with his enormous length. In her relatively limited experience, he’s definitely got the most impressive dick she’s ever encountered. It doesn’t make it any less fun, but it’s certainly more of a challenge.

Dana Scully has never backed down from a challenge.

She takes her time exploring every inch of him, enjoying his sounds, how his hands grip the edge of the leather couch. Mostly just the way his head lolls backwards and her name keeps escaping his lips like a prayer, over and over, up to the heavens.

“Scully… _Scully…”_

It occurs to her how strange it actually is that she’s been hearing her last name called out during sex the last few weeks and how _un-_ strange it has all felt. It isn’t something she’d ever change, though. Hearing his voice saying her name this way feels right in a way she can’t quite explain.

After a couple minutes his hand goes to her shoulder and she looks up. “You’ve still got a wish left. Better get while the getting’s still good.”

“This one is easy,” she says, and climbs into his lap. She raises up onto her knees and aligns their sexes, barely grazing his with her own. She puts her arms around his neck and starts to sink down onto him slowly.

“No, no,” he says, gripping her arms. “I want to hear you wish for it. And make it worth my while.”

“Mulderrrrrr…”

He grabs her hips firmly, stopping her descent.

“Make a wish, Scully.”

“Fine.” She leans into him close, grabbing a fistful of his black T shirt. “I wish you’d get inside me already.”

“Granted,” he grins, pulling her down. She inhales sharply at the contact, at how hard he is, how completely he fills her. Her eyes close and she takes a moment; in this position she can feel him more deeply than in any other and it’s practically cosmic.

She holds his face in her hands and he holds her hips as they rock together, and she once again marvels at how in sync they have become over the years. He reaches around to her back, unclasping her bra. She removes it and his hands are on her breasts, kneading them. She leans forward a bit so they are level with his face and he happily takes the hint, suckling and kissing as she cradles his head against her. She adjusts her angle slightly and suddenly they are slamming into each other at precisely the right location and she can feel her orgasm approaching like a tidal wave in the distance.

“Mulder, I’m gonna come...” she informs him breathily.

“Go for it, G-woman,” he replies, and she goes for it. It overtakes her completely and she’s squeezing his head, practically suffocating him between her breasts as she rides out her release.

As she starts to come down he taps her on her shoulder. “Scully, I can’t breathe down here,” comes his muffled voice. She releases his head and laughs.

“Sorry.”

“No better place to suffocate, to be honest.”

“Are you close?” She starts rocking again but he flips her onto her back.

“Yes.” He cradles her head, his hands behind it, as he continues pumping into her. She dips her hands beneath his T shirt to feel his back, gliding her hands over his muscles and watching him intently. She doesn’t kiss him, and she doesn’t close her eyes. She only wants to look into his. When she looks into them she can see his whole world: her, reflected back, as well as the dark matter that is his essence; the things she has yet to discover about him.

He comes as they are looking into each other’s eyes, and his forehead falls into hers. She brings her hand to the side of his face, which is stubbly, more so than usual. She pulls him down on top of her and rubs her soft cheek against his scratchy one, enjoying the feel of it, his smell, his masculinity.

After a minute, he speaks. “I should have been more careful with my wishes, Scully.”

She knows he means his real wishes, the ones he wasted.

“You’re lucky to have witnessed the phenomenon at all, Mulder. As usual.”

“Yeah, but… I was careless. There are things… important things I should have considered. Now it’s too late.”

She wonders if his regret has anything to do with her. She has his head cradled against her chest and they are squished side by side on the couch now. She runs her fingers through his hair.

“You did good, Mulder. You’re right. It was the right thing to do.”

“Are you happy, Scully? Are you, really?”

The question is so sudden it takes her by surprise. She had just told him he makes her happy. Maybe he doesn’t believe it for some reason.

“Yes, I am. You make me happy.”

He’s quiet, considering her response. He hadn’t asked if he was the one making her happy but she’d told him all the same.

“I think I’m happier right now than I’ve ever been in my entire life,” he finally says. She smiles and just holds him, her silence her agreement.

“I thought of my third wish,” he says after a minute.

She laughs. “I think the game is over, Mulder.”

“No it isn’t. I get three wishes, don’t I?” He pushes up onto his elbows and looks at her again.

“Okay. What’s your third wish?”

He leans down and gives her a long kiss, and she can feel his smile curving upward, evidence of his happiness. Then he looks directly at her.

“I wish for butter on the popcorn.”

_Fucker._

 


	11. First Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She would do anything for him, anything. And he knows it. She’s filled with such frustration at this truth and such love for him all at the same time, and these contradictory emotions wage a battle in her brain that may never cease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during the flashback events of "The Gift."

 

**The Gift**

 

**(2000)**

 

The pain in his head is acute. He’s starting to wonder exactly how much longer he can hide his sickness from her. She’s a doctor, after all. She’s bound to notice something is amiss.

Alone in the basement office, he intercepts the phone call while Scully is out retrieving coffee. Squamash Township, Pennsylvania: A woman afraid of a mysterious creature, can he come investigate? Not an uncommon plea down here in the X Files office, but this particular creature might be of particular use to him in his condition.

He wants to believe it, he has to.

So he goes.

 

***

 

The creature’s foul breath smells of death and disease. Mulder is terrified and fascinated all at once. This has to work; it will free him, it will rid him of this illness, solve all his problems. But as the creature approaches him, prepared to feast, Mulder sees something perhaps only he could ever see in such a monster.

He sees pathos.

He thinks of his work, how it will remain unfinished no matter what he does or when he dies.

He thinks of this creature and the innumerable other creatures out there waiting to be discovered, and how few people will remain willing to look for them after he’s gone.

And he thinks of Scully. They’ve been in this position before, both of them, faced with leaving the other behind forever. He can’t bear it; the fear of losing her grips his very soul.

But he cannot augment this creature’s pain, he cannot. He will not.

She would understand, if only she knew.

 

***

 

It’s raining hard outside, and she’s having trouble sleeping. Mulder has been acting strangely all day, ever since he bailed on her to follow up on some mysterious lead by himself earlier this morning.

It’s strange to acknowledge that it had been unlike him to ditch her like that. It was something he used to do all the time, but not so much anymore. She can’t help but remember the way things were so long ago when they first met, when he would hide things from her, keep things from her, while claiming he trusted her entirely. It pissed her off then and it’s pissing her off again.

Last weekend they’d gone to Raleigh together to visit Mulder’s mother’s gravesite and he’d seemed a bit off all day. She knew he was probably just emotional, but the conversation they’d had that morning weighed on her.

Her own mother had clued in on the shift in their relationship that day. Scully had told Mulder she preferred to keep it a secret from her, and he hadn’t understood why she’d want that.

 _“I’m sure you keep your own secrets,”_ she’d said to him, but his subsequent silence had been oppressive. It scared her. She had the distinct impression he was in fact keeping something from her, something important. It had bothered her all week.

Just as she’s in that place between asleep and awake she hears a knock at her door. It’s three in the morning, it must be him. She throws the covers off and trudges to the door to find Mulder, drenched from head to toe, looking like hell.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

She wordlessly holds the door open.

“I’m sorry, I just… did I wake you?”

She gapes at him. “Mulder, it’s three in the morning.”

He comes in and cups her cheek, giving her a quick kiss. It’s brief and familiar, almost perfunctory. She closes the door.

“You look terrible, what happened? Where have you been all day?”

He goes to sit on her couch but she stops him. Whatever mess he’s gotten himself into, it doesn’t also require him to mess up her furniture. She starts removing his wet clothes as he tries to explain.

“I was following up a lead, something you’d have found silly. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

She looks at him. “That doesn’t sound like you, Mulder,” she says suspiciously as she peels his soaked shirt off him. He lets her, his eyes not leaving her own.

“I need a favor, Scully, and you’re not going to like it.”

She tosses the wet shirt down and sighs. Closing her eyes, her hand goes to her forehead and she tilts her head. “What kind of favor?”

“Something happened and... I had to fire three rounds. From my second weapon. I’m going to have to explain myself and I don’t know how to do that, not this time.”

“Why can’t you explain it?”

He sighs heavily. “It was… unauthorized. I didn’t get clearance from Kersh to go.”

She crosses her arms. “ _What_ _happened_ , Mulder?” she asks evenly.

He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you, Scully.” His eyes look sad, and whatever this is, it pains him to not tell her. “I need you to trust me.”

It’s a familiar song and dance, but there’s only one answer. “Of course I trust you.”

She continues to take off his wet clothing, moving to his belt. He sighs, and it’s clear that whatever happened, she won’t be getting much out of him. “What’s the favor, then?”

He pauses. “I need you to verify I was here in Washington today. Just... by signing some paperwork. Can you do that for me?”

She stops unbuckling his belt and looks him right in the eye. “Are you asking me to falsify case reports, Mulder?”

He looks incredibly guilty but does not look away from her. She continues. “I’m just trying to be clear about what exactly you’re asking of me. You’re asking me to risk my job, my career. The X Files themselves. Because you did something you won’t tell me about. Is that what you’re asking me to do?”

He just looks at her and nods, his misery palpable. “Yes,” he whispers.

She would do anything for him, anything. And he knows it. She’s filled with such frustration at this truth and such love for him all at the same time, and these contradictory emotions wage a battle in her brain that may never cease.

She finishes removing his belt and his wet pants and he is standing in her living room in just his boxers, drenched and so vulnerable. He looks about to cry for some reason and she just wishes she could know why. His stare is fixed on her, and she looks intently at his pants on the floor because she knows the second their eyes meet she will give in. His gaze could never land anywhere else. He has no one else, only her.

Finally, she looks at him and sighs. “Of course I will.”

He falls into her and nearly knocks her over as he gathers her into his arms. He kisses the top of her head and he’s holding her so tight. She hates herself a little for allowing him to manipulate her like this. She knows he isn’t doing it on purpose and that almost makes it worse.

“Take those off, I’ll get you something dry, okay?” He releases her and she goes back into her bedroom, opening one of her drawers in which she’d placed a couple of his T shirts and extra boxers he’d left on prior occasions.

As she’s rounding the door jamb he’s there, naked, and suddenly his hands are in her hair, his lips against hers and he’s kissing her, urgently. Something rises up inside of her she can’t control and she drops the clothes to the floor and jumps up into his arms. She wraps her legs around his middle and squeezes with as much strength as she can, channeling her anger into her thighs like a vise grip.

Her fingers are digging into his scalp and she bites his bottom lip, hard. He flinches and pulls back for a moment, his eyes fiery, and she worries she’s gone too far but he responds in kind by tossing her back down onto the bed.

She likes it, she likes all of it. He climbs on top of her and in his haste to get her pajama top off quickly he rips it, adding to both her anger and her arousal. She can see he’s at full attention, and she can feel herself slick with desire. She shimmies out of her pajama bottoms and before they are even fully off, his mouth descends upon hers again, his tongue assailing her own with a kind of intensity she isn’t used to from him. They kiss fiercely, then she moves her mouth around to his earlobe and bites it, too, and he groans in response.

Sounds of thunder echo in her ears, rain pounding against her bedroom window, and it feels somehow appropriate, as if the very weather understands the way she feels right now. She grips his neck tightly just as he inserts two fingers into her, making a come hither motion that hits just the right spot.

Her eyes bulge and she wants to scream out, but she bites her own lip to stay silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much this is all turning her on. She then realizes it doesn’t matter anyway. He already fucking knows.

He flicks her clit with his thumb and his mouth moves to her nipple, sucking fiercely. He seems to be testing the waters but she wants more. She grabs the back of his head and digs her fingernails into his scalp, arching into his mouth. He follows her cue and bites, not too hard but enough to make her cry out. He pulls back, eyes wide, but she leans up to kiss him again, sucking and biting his lip, pulling on his hair, giving permission.

”Again,” she commands. He moves back down,  circling again, nipping once more but it’s not enough.

”Harder!” she says, more loudly than she intends to. He obeys and it’s exactly what she wants. She gasps and arches again, clutching his head to her chest, clawing at his scalp.

He moans and withdraws his fingers, bringing them back to her nipples to pinch and twist. Her body writhes wildly under his touch and she pulls his hair even harder.

“Scully…”

He looks into her eyes and she reaches down to take him into her hand, hot and hard. Nodding, she lifts her legs up, wrapping them around his thighs. He moves until his tip just grazes her entrance. She grabs the dimples of his ass, squeezing hard, and he takes the cue and thrusts savagely into her. She can’t contain her pleasure, and his name escapes her lips more loudly than she’d typically allow. He’s rocking into her with such force she feels the bed moving.

Without any cares whatsoever about her neighbors or the hour, she screams out his name over and over, a mantra. When he is inside her, when she can wrap herself around him completely, she feels whole, and even through her fury she still feels this way. She will always feel this way; she craves him, and she knows it. It only makes her love him more.

Her fingernails are digging grooves into his back with every thrust, and she’s getting closer and closer to the edge. She’s unaware of everything else going on outside this tiny little world they’ve created together, the one where they are completely themselves and completely different people all at the same time.

She is aware of one thing, however: she’s never been fucked like this in her life.

“Harder,” she commands again, even though she doesn’t think he could if he tried. Right now the only thing she wants out of life is for him to split her in half.

Eventually he does, and she comes hard, bringing him with her, shuddering spasms emanating from her body morphing into his as if they were one. Right now, they may as well be.

He collapses on top of her and she holds him close for a moment as he breathes heavily. He holds himself up and kisses her forehead, brushing the sweaty hair out of her face, looking into her eyes. She can tell he wants to know if she’s okay, he wants to know if that was okay.

She nods, gently pushing his own hair back from his forehead. _That was definitely fucking okay._

He shifts his body down a bit, laying his head on her chest, and she cradles it in her arms, running her fingers through his hair, letting him listen to her racing heart. She feels strangely satisfied, and not just sexually, but as if she’d worked out her anger at him in a way that was productive for both of them. The frustration is gone now and only the love remains.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly whispers. “I’m so sorry, Scully.”

His nose is smashed against her breast and she can feel him trembling softly and knows he is crying. She wishes he would tell her what he’s so sorry about.

 

***

 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He hadn’t cried like that in front of Scully since his mother died, and then she at least had an inkling of what was wrong.

He lays on his back naked, staring at the ceiling, the morning light just barely beginning to stream into her bedroom. The rain is still falling outside but it’s lighter now. He feels terrible about everything. It’s all so unfair; they should be happy right now, he should be enjoying life. Not thinking about how soon his is going to end. Not worrying about what will happen to her after he’s gone.

He rolls onto his side and looks at her, the peaks and valleys of her body bathed in the early morning light. She’s half under the sheet but most of her naked body is visible and he feasts his eyes for a while.

The more days that pass, the more pain he feels, and the more he believes he needs to let her go. Let her be free from him, live her life the way she deserves.

He only wants her to be happy.

He slips quietly out of bed and goes into her kitchen to make coffee. As it brews he looks around her living room and sees a tuxedo in a clear plastic garment bag hanging from her television cabinet.

 _Shit._ He completely forgot about the FBI gala tonight. They’d debated going together since they were technically hiding their relationship from their coworkers, then they’d debated attending at all. But there was no one else to represent the X Files, and he’d rationalized they’d probably be going together anyway, even if things hadn’t changed between them. She had agreed and the decision had been made.

Would she still want to go after last night? He wasn’t even sure what happened, he had only wanted to feel her touch when suddenly she’d attacked him like a wild animal. She was angry, and they’d never had sex like that before. He hadn’t expected it to turn him on so much, but he could also tell it had been more emotionally driven than anything else. Strangely, for some reason it feels like they’d taken another step closer to one another. It’s odd, but he feels it nonetheless.

He wonders what she’s thinking right now. Is she upset at him for putting her in this impossible position? Or is she just angry he’s obviously keeping secrets?

Probably both. He deserves her anger, she has a right to it. It won’t change anything, though. Nothing will.

He tries to figure out how to solve this problem the best he can, but there is no solution. He can’t program, categorize, or easily reference this. The only way out is to leave her and he doesn’t want to do that, either. He can’t game out breaking her heart. He doesn’t know how.

He watches the coffee brew, each drip signifying more time passing. Less time he has left. He must have gotten lost in his thoughts because she is suddenly behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back.

They exchange no words. He isn’t sure what to say to her. Silently he pours her a cup, and one for himself. She leans against the counter, looking at him, sipping her coffee.

It hadn’t been a fight, per se. Fighting isn’t what they do. What they _do_ is not deal with things; it’s what they’ve always done, and what they’ll continue to do. But everything got very serious last night and he can tell they’re both feeling the effects of it.

Finally, she speaks. “Where are these case reports I need to sign?”

He shakes his head. “No, Scully. I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable doing.”

She levels her eyes at him. “I’d be much less comfortable not doing it, if you’re going to get into trouble, Mulder,” she says. “It’s not a good time to put any more heat onto the X Files. Evaluations are coming up and I’m certain we’re first on the chopping block.”

He nods, but now he’s sorry he even asked her. Does any of this even matter anymore? She won’t want the X Files after he’s gone and he knows it.

“Not to mention that embarrassment last week with the Harvard Medical researchers,” she goes on. “That cost the Bureau quite a bit, for nothing.”

“So…”

“So I’ll do it. For the X Files. And we won’t ever speak of this again. Okay?”

He nods, knowing this is probably for the best, and he can’t walk it back now anyway. Again, he’s reminded of what a shit he is and how she’s way too good for him. Who would do this, for anyone? She does for him without a second thought.

He loves her, but he can’t say it. He loves her too much to tell her so.

She sets her coffee down and walks over to him. He wraps his arms around her and she sighs heavily into his chest.

“Hey, I have to ask you something,” he says.

“Mmm?”

“Last night… what was that?” He pulls away a bit so he can look at her. She shrugs, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure. It was good, wasn’t it?” she asks.

“Yeah, but it’s always good, Scully.” She looks away, at the floor, and for some reason he doesn’t want to let this one go. He tilts her chin up to look at him.

“Was there more to that than you’re telling me?”

She sighs again. “Well, yeah, I was pissed at you.”

“If that was how you reacted every time you were mad at me, I don’t think we’d have gotten anything accomplished, ever.”

She laughs softly. “Probably not.” She’s silent a moment and leans back into him. “I hate when you do this, Mulder.”

She’d said it quickly, like it was difficult to say. He feels a chill through his body because he knows what he did was shitty. He hates disappointing her more than anything. But he has no choice, not this time.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say. It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. All he can hope for is to move past this.

“I don’t like being in the dark. I know you say to trust you, and I do. Of course I do. I just wish... you’d trust _me_.”

“Oh, Scully,” he says, pulling her as close as he can. If he hugs her, he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes. If he doesn’t look her in the eyes he won’t break. “I do trust you. You have to believe that. I just think…”

He reaches for a white lie, because he’s desperate. If she believes this is just about work, just about the X Files, and not about him, maybe she can let it go. He needs her to let it go.

“...the less you know about this, the better it will be for you.”

He doesn’t like lying to her. This whole thing feels like a classic example of the way they’ve always operated, whenever they can’t figure out how to talk to each other. In the olden days, or “B.S.,” Before the Sex, as he thinks of it, this sort of thing would have just gotten buried, maybe forgotten, maybe not. She’d say something like _Damn it, Mulder,_ and he’d get away with it. He always gets away with it.

But she’s made an effort to talk to him about this. He’s shutting her down and he knows it. He feels incredibly guilty.

“I think… that when I make you mad I’d rather know about it than get rewarded with sex,” he concedes, his chin resting on her head.

She scoffs. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself but I wasn’t thinking about you, I can promise you that much,” she admits bluntly.

He appreciates her honesty. Maybe he was just the proverbial pillow she needed to punch. If she was just using him, he probably deserved to be used.

“I’m still upset about this, Mulder. But we will be okay.”

Shutting the fuck up is sometimes all he can do for her. So he does, and they stand in her kitchen, the rain softly tapping against her windows.

“Now I think we _really_ have to go to this gala thing tonight. Show our faces. Make our little department look good,” she says, pulling away from him to look at his face.

“Were you thinking about changing your mind?”

“No. I’ve actually been wanting to go to one of these things with you for years. You look so goddamn good in a tux.”

He chuckles. “But we’ll have to be incognito.”

“Maybe it will be fun, you know? We have this secret no one knows about.”

“Scully, every fucking body knows.”

She laughs. “You’re probably right. But no one has any proof.”

“You and your proof,” he grins, kissing the top of her head, pulling her in again. His head rests on hers and he feels tears welling in his eyes; tears that are more proof he doesn’t deserve her.

Maybe tonight he can forget for a little while. Maybe tonight he can just be with her, and enjoy what little time he has left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of fans don't like the Mulder brain disease thing, but I don’t really have a problem with it. I don’t believe it’s out of character for Mulder to lie to Scully. This isn’t technically the first secret he’s kept from Scully, nor will it be the last. But since these are “firsts” for them as a couple, and I truly believe this disease works as a powerful motivator for his words to her in Requiem and for him walking towards that spacecraft in the first place, I feel it’s important to unpack it here.


	12. First Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes dart around and he can see people watching them together; dozens of people who are having their secret suspicions confirmed before their very eyes. Sure, they can’t prove it, but he knows they know. Anyone looking at the two of them would know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after the flashback events of "The Gift" and before "Requiem."

 

**The Gift**

**(2000)**

 

He’s adjusting his bow tie in her mirror when she comes around the corner and his jaw drops.

Her dress is a deep navy blue that makes her eyes look darker. It’s more low-cut than anything he’s ever seen her wear, at least in public. And she’s wearing thin black stilettos that make her legs look incredible. He doesn't know from fashion, but he knows drop dead gorgeous when he sees it.

“Good, then?” she asks, interpreting his expression. She spins with her back to him, indicating she needs his help with the zipper.

“Yes,” is all he can think to say. He zips the dress closed.

“Are the heels too much?”

His head is shaking before he even realizes it. “Not at all. You look… amazing, Scully.”

“Likewise,” she smiles, and plays a bit with his bow tie. “I think this is going to be fun.”

“I think it’s going to be tedious.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’ll be nice to get out, don’t you think? We haven’t really gone anywhere together since our date.”

He grimaces. “Did I drop the ball? Sorry. I’ve been having a lot of fun just being here with you, to be honest.”

He holds her by the waist and gently pulls her towards him, her arms automatically going around his neck. It’s strange; it hasn’t even been two months for them and he feels… married. He can’t help it, the thought enters his mind. It’s like they’re a married couple going out on the town.

But they aren’t married. They’re two people hiding their feelings from everyone, including each other.

As usual, he tries to bury these thoughts, bury them until he decides what to do with them. He leans in to kiss her, softly, before his eyes can betray what he’s thinking.

Her hand presses against his cheek and she rubs it softly with her thumb, the kiss deep and comfortable. More and more he’s wondering whether or not this night will be their last, and he can’t stop tears from forming in his eyes. He places his hand on the back of her head and pulls her into his shoulder so she doesn’t see him composing himself.

Tonight won’t be about that. He will save this worry for another day, another day that will probably come too soon.

She pulls away and looks in the mirror one more time, shrugging at his reflection with a grin. As she heads towards the door, he darts into the bathroom.

“Just a sec,” he calls, closing the door. He lifts the toilet seat up and finds the painkillers he’s hidden in his pocket, popping two into his mouth. His head hurts, although not as much as usual. He flushes the toilet and turns on the sink, every fake action a gut punch, having to hide this from her. It’s lying by omission, but a lie is a lie and he can’t stand doing it to her. He doesn’t know what else to do.

He exits the bathroom and heads toward the front door, where she is waiting.

“You ready?” she asks.

He nods. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

***

 

The gala is in full swing when they arrive. The ballroom, which is located in a hotel a few blocks from the Hoover building, is adorned with red, white and blue balloons. Their fellow agents and their spouses mill about in evening attire, getting drinks, eating hors d'oeuvres and dancing. There are banners proclaiming “ _FBI_ _Spring Gala Celebrating Duty and Dedication to the United States of America.”_

“Jeez,” Mulder scoffs, leaning into her ear as he reads the banner. “Now I remember why I don’t come to these things.”

“Come on, Mulder. Where’s your sense of patriotism?”

He chuckles. She’s not surprised at his annoyance. The two of them know more about this institution’s hypocrisy than they should, but their access is powerful and undeniable. They’re a bit stuck.

They walk in together but keep a bit of distance from each other. She has to physically stop herself from taking his arm or holding his hand several times, and wonders if it’s just as difficult for him.

They wander together through the crowd, making polite eye contact and small talk with people they occasionally encounter at work. She’s struck by the fact that she knows so few of them very well at all; so much of her work time is spent only with Mulder. Sometimes she forgets there are hundreds of other employees in their building.

“Want a drink?” he asks after a while, as she sits down at an unoccupied table. She nods and looks around nervously. She’s never felt more exposed in such a way, here among their coworkers when they have this secret. She’s dressed different, she feels different. Mulder is probably right, that everyone assumes they’re sleeping together anyway. It doesn’t make her feel better though. It makes her feel worse.

She doesn’t want to be _that_ woman, the one who sleeps with her partner. She’d avoided being that woman for years. Or at least she thought she had. It isn’t the same for Mulder and she knows it; somehow she feels if they were outed, it would affect how her colleagues viewed her more than it would him. It’s entirely unfair, but there it is.

“Dana? Is that you?”

A somewhat familiar voice comes from behind her, and she turns and looks up into the face of Agent Peyton Ritter.

“Agent Ritter!” she says, a bit startled. “Um… hi,” she answers. He sits.

“I thought that was you,” he smiles. “How… are things?”

She hasn’t seen Agent Ritter since that day in the hospital, when he came to her bedside and apologized for very nearly killing her. He honestly hadn’t crossed her mind much, even when she looked at the scar.

“Things are good,” she replies. “What are you doing in D.C.? Are you no longer at the New York office?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m still there. Just… in town, so I figured I’d attend.”

“Just in town?” she smiles.

He looks down and grins. “Okay, you caught me. I was actually hoping to see you here.”

She feels an involuntary flush, probably out of embarrassment more than anything else. Ritter is attractive, she’s always thought so, but she was never romantically interested in him. And especially not now.

“To see me? Why?” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and her eyes dart over to the bar. She can’t see Mulder.

“Don’t misunderstand, it’s not what you think. I’ve been… in therapy the past year. Bureau mandated, but I stayed well past my requirement. It really messed me up, you know. What happened to you.”

She nods. She holds no ill will towards him, she knows as well as anyone that mistakes can happen in the line of duty. Difficult decisions need to be made in the blink of an eye. She’s certain no one regrets it more than he does.

“I fucked up, and I nearly killed you. I’m a better agent than that. I let my instincts get the better of me and I reacted poorly. And I know I already told you this, but I wanted to tell you that I am sorry. Again. In person.”

His hand is tapping nervously on the table and she covers it with hers. “I know you are. And I’m glad you’ve been working this out on your own terms. But you don’t have to worry about me, I’m okay. I’ve been okay.”

He nods, and grins. “I thought your partner was gonna murder me in my sleep, to be honest. I don’t think I _could_ sleep for a week.”

She retracts her hand and puts it back in her lap, her eyes darting around surreptitiously. “Yeah, Mulder is… he can be very overprotective. It’s just his nature. Don’t take it too personally.”

“How is it, you know… back on the X Files again?”

“Comfortable,” she replies.

“That’s nice to hear,” he says. He sounds genuine. “I wasn’t very… open to your ideas. I wish I could do it all over, to be honest.”

“I understand, I do. I haven’t been very open myself, on occasion,” she admits. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

His next question is sudden and rehearsed. “Would you like to dance?”

She hesitates. There’s no real reason she shouldn’t, other than Mulder. And here in this building they are not a couple. She isn’t even sure they’re one outside of the building. She’s not sure what compels her to agree, but before she knows it Agent Peyton Ritter is leading her out onto the dance floor.

 

***

 

“Two champagnes, please.”

He drums his fingers on the bar, looking around. So far, so good. There are so many people here, no one will pay too much attention to them if they’re lucky. They’ll show their faces to Skinner and Kersh, and try to be seen by enough people to prove they were here at all, then they’ll sneak out and go back to her place and pick up where they left off.

He takes the two glasses and heads back to the table but doesn’t see Scully. He sets them down and looks around, scanning the room for her. He finally spots her, and the feeling that rises up within him can only be described as nausea.

 She’s out on the dance floor, dancing with some other guy.

He knew this was going to be a covert operation but they’d never discussed how to behave with others. Some guy asks her to dance, why shouldn’t she? She’s not _with_ him, not publicly. He has no claim over her here, as much as he’d like to. He has no claim over her anywhere, really. And it’s his own fault.

He sits and watches them, the guy with his back to him. She is looking at him and smiling and he might just throw up. He’s dealt with plenty of monsters in his day, but none of them compare to the green eyed monster rising up within him at this very moment. Some other man touching her, looking into her eyes, being on the receiving end of that smile, the smile that should only be reserved for him.

Suddenly they turn and he sees who it is.

_Oh, hell no._

He makes a decision and, after downing a huge gulp of his champagne, walks across the dance floor to them. He taps firmly on Ritter’s shoulder, who spins around.

“Agent Mulder!”

“Agent Ritter.”

Ritter looks questioningly at Scully. “Are you… is he…?”

“She’s with me,” Mulder says with conviction. “Do you mind, Agent?”

Ritter looks at Scully with confusion but Scully nods, and he releases her. She goes to Mulder and attaches herself to him like a magnet, her hand in the crook of his arm.

“It was nice to see you again, Agent Ritter,” she says politely. Ritter looks between the two of them, furrowing his brow, and nods slowly in understanding.

“You too, Dana. Both of you. Enjoy your evening.”

Mulder nods, and Ritter is gone.

He pulls her close and they move to the music. She drapes her arms around his neck and narrows her eyes.

“Smooth, Mulder.”

His hand is on her waist, his other hand taking hers to hold it between their chests. He moves his cheek to rest against hers. He can’t help it.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’ve answered the question of how I’d react seeing you dancing with some other guy.”

He can feel her smiling. “You certainly have.”

“I didn’t like it.”

“I don’t think he was trying anything, Mulder. He just felt bad, you know. For shooting me and all.”

“Why would you dance with some guy who shot you?”

She pulls back and looks at him, still dancing. “I shot you,” she points out.

He looks a bit chagrined and leans back into her. “Shit. You’re right.” She smells so good and looks so perfect, he wishes he could just kiss her right here, right now, in front of everyone.

“It’s a good thing you’re not just ‘some guy’ to me, Scully,” he says quietly.

“Mulder,” she whispers into his ear, her cheek pressed against his once again. “I only want to dance with you, okay?”

He nods. He knows. Now he feels stupid for calling such attention to them. His eyes dart around and he can see people watching them together; dozens of people who are having their secret suspicions confirmed before their very eyes. Sure, they can’t prove it, but he knows they know. Anyone looking at the two of them would know.

He suddenly doesn’t care anymore, and tilts his head just enough to plant a soft kiss on her temple. Although it isn’t a flagrant violation, it’s still risky. He does it anyway. Her hand softly rubs the back of his neck in response. It’s subtle, but it’s not how platonic work partners dance.

“You’re kind of cute when you’re jealous,” she says into his ear.

“You bring it out in me,” he smiles.

They spin on the dance floor cheek to cheek for a couple minutes and it’s a strange sensation to be so close to her, but not seeing her face. To be holding her, but only seeing the faces of his fellow agents, all of them curious, all of them rapt.

He doesn’t want to look at them anymore so he closes his eyes and breathes her in, enjoying the moment. Everything feels so normal and wonderful. He tries to keep the bad thoughts and fears out of his mind, and only wants to be here and now, lucky enough to be with her, knowing he’s got the best woman in the room in his arms.

The best woman in the _world_ in his arms.

The song ends and he pulls away from her reluctantly, taking her hand and leading her off the dance floor with a half dozen other couples.

“I think we’ve sufficiently blown our cover, wouldn’t you say?” he winks. She smiles a bit shyly and covers his hand with both of hers, following him. They sit back down at the table and sip their champagne.

“You two look great, glad you made it out,” the voice of AD Skinner comes from behind them.

Mulder turns and stands to shake his boss’s hand. Skinner looks back and forth between them. “I hope you’re having a good time.”

“Good evening, sir,” Scully smiles.

Skinner puts his hand up. “No ‘sir,’ not tonight. I have the night off from being your boss. It’s a relief.” He looks at Scully and extends a hand. “Care to dance, Agent Scully?”

She immediately looks at Mulder, then quickly back to Skinner, probably realizing she doesn’t need to ask his permission.

“Thank you, I would,” she smiles, and as Skinner leads her back into the crowd she glances back at Mulder and shrugs. He shakes his head, smiling to himself. He should have known he’d have the most popular dance partner in the room.

He watches the two of them dancing companionably for a couple minutes, sipping his champagne.

“Agent _Mulder,”_ comes a gruff voice behind him. Mulder spins to see who it is, although he doesn’t have to.

“Deputy Director,” he greets Kersh with a handshake, and stands.

“I see you made it out tonight. The both of you,” he adds, nodding in the general direction of Scully. Mulder wonders if there’s a man in the room who didn’t notice her out there on the dance floor.

“Yes sir, somebody has to represent the X Files. We thought it was important to show up.”

Kersh nods, his face expressionless. “Good, that’s good to see.”

They stare at each other for a bit, neither a social being in their own respects, so neither having much to be social about. He expected nothing less than canned pleasantries from the man who barely tolerates his presence on a daily basis, and the mundanity of attending work events has reared its ugly head just as he’d expected.

Mulder turns to watch Scully and Skinner, hoping he’s done his due diligence with Kersh and that he’ll put an end to this awkward silence by making himself scarce.

“I don’t want to put a cloud over your evening, Agent...” he begins. _Too late._ “...but I feel inclined to warn you your little unit might be in a bit of trouble.”

Mulder tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Cutbacks, Agent Mulder,” Kersh replies with barely contained glee. “We have audits scheduled. The short list for departments under scrutiny has yours on it.”

Mulder nods slowly. “Sir, not a day goes by where our department isn’t under scrutiny.”

“I just thought you’d like to know. It isn’t my decision, fortunately for you.” He grins, as much as Kersh ever grins.

“Deputy Director Kersh,” comes the voice of Scully, arriving back at the table with Skinner. “How are you tonight?”

“Very well, thank you,” Kersh says to her. “And you?”

“I’m… doing great,” she says pleasantly. It’s clearly awkward for all of them to be standing here making small talk.

“Well, you all enjoy the party. Have a good evening, Agent Scully, Agent _Mulder.”_ He practically spits the last word. Then he turns and is gone.

After a beat, Mulder turns to Scully. “I think it might actually physically pain him to say my name.”

“What the hell did we do this time?” she asks, under her breath.

“We exist,” he answers. “I guess that’s enough.”

“What did he say to you?” asks Skinner.

“Looks like your suspicions were warranted, Scully. The X Files are being financially audited.”

“Yeah, next week, I’m afraid,” Skinner confirms.

Scully rolls her eyes. “And the wolves close in on us again.”

“It’s purely budgetary,” Skinner explains. “Just stay focused on that.”

Both Mulder and Scully eye him suspiciously, the Scully Eyebrow at full attention.

“I’m in your corner, okay? Don’t forget that,” Skinner says. He glances between the two of them, his eyes full of questions. Mulder obviously doesn’t have the answers, so he picks up his glass of champagne, finishes it off, and extends his elbow to Scully.

“We appreciate that, sir. More than you know.”

Scully stands up and nods at her boss. “I think we’re going to head out,” she tells him. They’ve barely been here an hour but Mulder can tell she’s had enough, and he has too. Images of them wrapped around each other in her bed flash through his mind and he suddenly wants nothing more than to get the hell out of here.

Skinner grins at them, raising an eyebrow. “You do that. I’ll see you both Monday.” He turns and disappears back into the crowd.

Mulder takes her hand, not caring anymore who sees what, and they walk towards the exit. He leans into her to talk as quietly as possible.

“I think the jig is up, Scully,” he says.

“You think?”

“How have we managed to avoid that look for seven years? What are we doing differently?” He thought they’d done a pretty good job of staying under the radar tonight, other than the Peyton Ritter debacle. Maybe that’s all it took. Maybe just one small thing was enough to raise suspicion.

“You look happy, Mulder,” she says. “We both do.”

It really could be as simple as that. He is happy, happier than he thinks possible, given his circumstances. He looks sidelong at her as they head into the lobby, smiling, and squeezes her hand. It’s mostly deserted, as the guests are inside the ballroom.

Suddenly, his head feels like it’s been struck by lightning. It’s the only way he can describe it. He goes down, his knees hitting the floor hard, and cries out in pain.

“Mulder!” she yelps, dropping to her knees as well, her hand on his brow. “What’s wrong?”

He grips her wrist and tries desperately to ride it out, breathing heavily, pretending it isn’t as painful as it is. After a few moments, he looks at her. She’s touching his face, feeling his pulse, asking him questions he can’t hear. All he perceives is the look in her eyes, the fear. He’s seen it before and he will see it again. He’s so tired of seeing that look.

“I’m okay, it’s just… I felt something, for a moment. But I’m fine now.”

She isn’t going to let it go, and he knows she isn’t.

“Mulder, you hit the ground,” she says with concern. “Are you in pain? Dizzy? Any strange tastes in your mouth?”

“I just want to go home,” he gets out. His head feels like it’s on fire.

“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”

He can’t tell her not to, she would know something is up. He nods and she helps him to his feet, his head aching terribly. He fakes it, he tries his best to look fine. But they both know she’s onto him now.

Nothing like this has happened since the first time he saw that rubbing from the alien artifact. He’s known it might, and he’s been trying to prepare. Maybe he just hasn’t wanted to believe it. Maybe he just wants one more day with her, one more day of his life the way he wants it before everything changes. Before everything comes crashing down.

Is he being selfish? For the umpteenth time, he considers just telling her what’s going on. But then again, for the umpteenth time, he realizes the truth: he doesn’t want her to know. If she knows, she will spend all the time he has left searching for a cure that doesn’t exist, just like she did last time. She traveled clear across the world to find a way to cure him, and nothing would keep her from doing the same again. He’ll spend all the time he has left seeing fear in her eyes instead of that smile he’s grown so accustomed to.

They’ll spend all the time he has left not living.

As he does often, he thinks of that night she came into his bedroom and they made this decision, to be together completely, to lay their cards out on the table. He wouldn’t change what happened for anything, but he can’t help but wonder if this would all be easier if things were still the way they were before. He’s done all he can the past few weeks, but now he’s filled with regret for not putting a stop to this sooner.

He loves her desperately, but saying “I love you” feels like a promise; a promise that he intends to be around for a while. It’s a promise he can’t keep.

The cab ride home is silent. He knows he needs to say something to allay her fears, he just doesn’t know what. So he takes her hand and stares straight ahead.

They walk into his apartment wordlessly, as he drops his keys and removes his jacket. They go into his bedroom and he takes off his pants, throwing on a gray T shirt over his boxers. She turns her back to him and he unzips her dress, which she steps out of. She goes into his drawer and slips on one of his old college T shirts and heads into the kitchen to make some tea. It’s something she does from time to time when they have nothing to say, as friends, as partners. Now, as something else.

The sight of her standing in his kitchen wearing his shirt makes him yearn for something normal, something he will never have, at least not permanently. But for right now, it fills him with warmth. For right now, he has it. He comes up behind her, wrapping his arm around her, and kisses her shoulder.

“You okay now?” she asks. She is filling his kettle with water and sets it on the stove.

“Yeah,” he replies. He’s relieved to not be lying for once. “I’m good.”

She turns around, standing between him and the counter, and hugs his middle. “You scared me back there,” she admits.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The truth is, he’s afraid, too. And the last thing he wants is for her to be afraid.

With a firm grasp on her hips, he hoists her up onto the counter, her legs resting against either side of him.

“Mulder, aren't you tired? You don't want to go to bed?”

He shakes his head slowly, leaning in to kiss her. He knows what will make them both feel better. She grins and wraps her arms around his neck as their lips meet. He kisses her passionately, his tongue moving insistently, wanting to savor her like an expensive wine he will never quite understand but knows is something special.

For several minutes she just kisses him back, making no motion to go any further. He puts both his hands behind her head and runs his fingers through her hair, feeling for all the world that her kiss could cure him, he knows it could, if he could only just believe it.

He moves a hand underneath her shirt and cups her breast, softly teasing her nipple with his thumb. She gasps a bit into his mouth and takes his other hand in her own, moving it to her other breast. She deepens their kiss, and as their tongues dance he hears her making tiny sighing sounds, sounds he hasn’t heard before. He commits these sounds to his memory, and again wonders if this will be their last time together, the last night he will be with her like this, the last time he will discover something new about her while in her arms.

“Hold on to me,” he says, and she does. He lifts her up, turning around, and sets her down on his kitchen table, which has a more favorable height. He slips her panties down off her legs, planting kisses all along them, down and back up again.

She clings to his neck and he brings her closer to him, to the edge of the table and as he slides into her she whispers his name into his ear so softly. It’s such a difference from last night, which was loud and fast and hard, and before he begins to move inside her he rubs her back softly underneath the shirt, every square inch, and kisses her shoulder, smelling his own scent there. His heart is full to the point of bursting with love for her, and he curses the unfairness of  this underlying melancholy that won’t ever dissipate, that darkens his happiness.

She wraps her legs around him and he starts to move, slowly at first but she moves her hands to the back of his head and pulls his hair a bit, not hard, but communicating to him to go faster. He does, and the table starts moving across the kitchen floor inch by inch. For the first time he notices every rhythmic motion feels like a ticking clock, time passing in moments, time he cannot get back, time they will never get back.

He feels himself begin to choke up and he will not allow her to see this, not when every time could be their last. He doesn’t want his emotional state to wreak havoc on their lovemaking. He holds off as long as humanly possible and just as he feels her gasping and shuddering around him he reaches his own crest.

He pours all of himself inside her and in this moment can only think of all the things he cannot give her; his life, his baby, his words of love. He can’t even give her the truth. He feels so inadequate.

He carries her over to his bed, the tea long forgotten, laying her down gently. He withdraws himself slowly and crawls next to her, surrounding himself in a Scully cocoon. She holds him close, entwining her legs with his, and kisses him again, then pulls his forehead to hers.

“It scares me how much I need you, Scully,” he says suddenly. “I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone.”

Her hand goes to his cheek and she sighs. “I’m not going anywhere, Mulder.” She whispers the last part: “I promise.”

He lets her words in, taking yet another thing from her; a promise he cannot give in return.

 


	13. First Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He makes a decision in this moment to make this as easy as possible for her. This will be the last time, the last time he gets to make love to her, the last time he gets to see the look in her eyes when she cries out his name, the last time he can feel like he deserves her.
> 
> He needs to let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For their goodbye, go [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34291679)

 

**Requiem**

**(2000)**

 

She turns her key in the lock of his apartment, the key she’s had for years. It's just one more aspect of their newfound situation she finds confusing. She’s not sure if she’s using it tonight as a lover or as a partner, but the key signifies neither. She doesn’t know what it means anymore.

“Mulder?” she calls tentatively into his personal abyss. It’s dark; it’s always dark in here but she wishes it weren’t all the time. Dark and mysterious, like him.

“Yeah, in here.”

His voice sounds soft, almost sad. It’s been only a couple days since he collapsed at the FBI gala and he’s been a bit distant ever since. She walks into his bedroom and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. She sits down next to him.

“Mulder, what’s wrong?”

He’s squeezing the sides of his head and she wonders if he’s in pain again. She isn’t stupid. She knows something is wrong, that he’s hiding something. She’s reminded of when he experienced that anomalous brain activity earlier in the year, and it had landed him in the hospital, nearly comatose. She’d almost lost him then, and it had been awful. Losing him now would be unthinkable.

“Does… your head hurt again?”

He exhales loudly and sits up, turning to look at her. Ignoring her question he says “Just thinking about what Kersh said the other night.”

“You mean about the X Files?”

He nods. “It’s gotten me thinking, Scully. How much longer are they going to indulge my interests? We’ve been in this position before, teetering on the edge. I’m worried this might be it, for real this time.”

She takes his hand, remembering the financial audits are tomorrow. For some reason she feels like revealing something she hasn’t had the courage to before now.

“Would that be so terrible?”

It’s something she’s been wondering ever since he discovered the truth about his sister. They’ve lost so much, sacrificed enough. When will it end?

He looks at her, his brow knit in confusion.  “You can’t possibly mean that, Scully.”

She shrugs. “Are we going to be doing this forever? Are you? There has to be an end sometime, Mulder.”

He just looks at her, the wheels in his head spinning a mile a minute. She’s not sure what he’s thinking, but she’s pretty sure he never even considered this idea before. His work has been his life for so long, but now he has more; he has her. Does he see it that way? Will he ever see it that way?

He turns away from her and she wonders if she’s revealed too much. Maybe she’s upset him. It wasn’t her intention.

“Mulder, I didn’t mean… I don’t _want_ them to close the X Files. Obviously.”

“I know,” he’s nodding.

It’s the first time she’s really evaluated her life since she started thinking about Mulder in this new way. What does she want her life to be? She’s given seven years and countless other intangibles over to this quest of his. She believes in their cause, she always will. But is this what she wants anymore? Is it what she wants with him, moving forward?

She puts her other hand over his. “What are you going to do, then?”

He looks back at her, his eyes soft. “Nothing,” he says. She is surprised.

“Nothing?”

“I’m going to do what I can tomorrow, but I suppose it is what it is. Let’s just ride out this wave.”

She’s a bit taken aback by his 180, but gives him a tight smile, nodding. “Tell them the truth. It’s what I’m going to do.”

“Maybe if I tell them we’ve been sharing motel rooms they’ll look at that as a positive. Save them a little money.”

“That… would not be helpful,” she admonishes, smiling.

He squeezes her hand and smiles at her, his demeanor suddenly lightened. He places a quick peck on her lips and tilts his head a bit. “You come over for some particular reason, Scully?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to check on you. You’ve been a little distant the past couple days.” She reaches up to tousle his hair. “I’ve been worried about you.”

He takes her hand away from his hair and kisses it, then looks at her.

“Don’t worry about me, okay? Don’t worry about anything.”

He leans back in to kiss her properly. As usual, the kiss makes her insides burn, but she has the distinct impression he’s trying to distract her from whatever is on his mind. If the X Files are what’s on his mind, she’s happy to be a distraction.

She drags her fingers along the blue pinstriped shirt he’s wearing. She’s never told him before but it’s probably her favorite. She peels it off him and tosses it to the floor, then pushes him down onto the bed slowly, trying her best not to think about all the things he’s told her not to.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

It’s still dark outside the motel room window in Bellefleur, but she’s wide awake. Her nausea seems to have subsided for the moment but what Mulder said to her is threatening to bring it back.

Something is very wrong and she knows it. It’s the first time she’s awakened in his arms and felt like crying instead of smiling.

_There’s so much more you need to do with your life, Scully. There's so much more than this._

_There has to be an end, Scully._

Her own words repeated back to her, but it didn’t feel the same. When she’d said it to him, she never meant for a second she wanted her life with him to end. To her, the end of the X Files could mean a new start for the two of them. A new beginning, really.

Had he misinterpreted what she meant? Did he think he had to choose between a life with her and his life on the X Files? She never wants him to make that choice because if she’s being completely honest with herself, she’s terrified of what choice he would ultimately make.

She felt guilt radiating off him in waves last night, relentless and unyielding. She wishes she could stop it somehow, stop him feeling like he has to protect her, stop him blaming himself for everything that’s happened to her.

Mostly, she wishes she could stop him from thinking she would ever want anything out of life that didn’t include him.

But she can’t stop it. It feels like he’s already left her.

He does this from time to time; goes to some faraway place in his mind and won’t let her follow. It usually drives her mad, annoys her, baffles her. But this time she’s finding it hard to breathe. Now that he’s pulling away from her, she’s starting to truly realize how much she needs him, how much she can’t live without him.

Maybe this is all her own fault. She’s waited too long to tell him how she feels and now she’s even less certain she wants to at all. What would it change if he knew she was in love with him? Adding to his guilt? She doesn’t want him to hurt, that’s the last thing she wants.

All she wants to do is love him and it feels like he won’t let her. Being together shouldn’t be so painful. Why does the universe always seem to be pitted against them?

There’s nothing to be done about it, not right now, anyway. She can hear his breath in her ear and his arms are still securely around her. Maybe for tonight she can just lie here and pretend everything is going to be fine.

  


***

  


He has two things in his life worth living for: his work, and her. He’s been thinking about this a lot since his health started deteriorating. Getting his affairs in order is something he’s been putting off ever since everything changed, and her life became his own.

It’s been too hard to face the end; he doesn’t want to believe it.

_You have a singular opportunity._

He hates to admit the words of Alex fucking Krycek have motivated him to make this decision, but he has to go. He would have gone in any case, but the words feel laden with meaning this time. With every passing day he feels the weight of his own mortality. Uncovering this alien craft could help him find the answers he’s sought for years, and his time is running out.

He and Scully stand in the hallway of the Hoover building facing each other. He can tell by the look in her eyes she wants to join him on this adventure but he can’t let her, not this time. Abductees aren't safe in Bellefleur, and they both know it.

He looks into her eyes and he knows she deserves to hear the truth from him, even though he can’t bring himself to utter the words.

“I’m not going to risk…” he pauses.

 _I’m not going to risk your safety,_ he could say.

 _I’m not going to risk your life,_ he could say.

But the truth is neither. She’s risked her life time and time for him, unquestioningly. He can’t let her do it this time, because the truth, _his_ truth, is that his world would rip in half if he ever lost her.

“...losing you.”

He sees yet again in her eyes the love she won’t speak, and she approaches him slowly, almost dazedly, because it’s the most he’s declared of himself to her thus far. She wraps her arms around him and brings her fingers to the nape of his neck, her face close against his cheek. They’re still doing everything they can to keep their relationship on the down low but she doesn’t seem to care in this moment.

“I won’t let you go alone,” she whispers into his ear.

He takes her face in his hands and doesn’t care about the menagerie inside the office, if they see, what they think, any of it. He presses his lips to hers softly, tenderly. Their eyes close and they sink into the kiss. As luck would have it, not one person sees them, but something feels different, yet again. Regardless of their lack of audience it’s the first time they’ve kissed so publicly, no hiding, no hesitation.

After a few moments they pull apart and she wraps her arms around him again, her head against his chest, tears staining his shirt. She’s holding onto him tightly, as if she’s worried he might float away from her.

“Skinner. Take Skinner with you,” she says.

He nods, because it’s exactly what he would have suggested. “I’m going to wrap this up, okay? Meet me back at my place?”

She leans away from him and nods again. He wonders what’s going on in her mind. She remains silent and takes his hand, squeezes it. She then turns to go.

  


***

  


He stuffs a couple T shirts in his carry-on bag as she sits on the edge of his bed, watching him pack. He hates leaving her behind but he has to focus on the task at hand. If he can just complete this mission, get this one answer, he can decide the best way to proceed with her.

Last night had been difficult. He’d held her in his arms and for the first time seriously considered breaking off this thing between them. He’d almost said it, he’d almost told her she should leave him. He loves her too much to continue to see her get hurt because of him.

She wouldn’t leave him willingly, he knows this. He’s not sure what he could possibly say to set her free, what words would make her go. Especially now; there’s so much more at stake. If proximity to him put her in danger before, now it’s even worse.

His mind is a torrent of competing thoughts. He thinks of alien spacecrafts and abductees and Alex Krycek and the smoking man and the fact that everything seems to have come full circle for him. Tonight feels oppressive, as if something is ending and they both know it.

_Scully._

He can’t shake the gnawing fear that no matter what he does, no matter what happens, he will disappoint her. He’s let her down so many times already. Either he will let her down again or he’ll die on her, and he can’t bear the thought of either scenario. He wants to let her go almost as much as he doesn’t.

Her mood is different tonight; as if she senses what he’s feeling. They’ve always been this way, communicative with their moods and eyes and thoughts more than they ever could be with their words. He hates the irony of this; that he can show her he loves her endlessly with his actions but can’t bring himself to say the words.

Telling her “I love you” is a promise he can’t keep. It will only make his inevitable death even harder for her to take. It will make it impossible.

It’s nearly midnight and they only have a couple hours together before he leaves. He sets his alarm after he puts the last pair of socks into his bag.

“I feel like I’m abandoning you, even though you’re the one leaving,” she says.

He wonders why she feels this way. He might be mistaking it for guilt when maybe it’s purely dedication. She doesn’t want to be separated from him, nor he from her. It doesn’t feel right, and they both know it.

“I’ve got this, Scully,” he says as he zips his carry-on bag closed and steps around the bed to her. “And don’t say that. You could never abandon me. I’m the one who always ditches you, remember?”

He crouches down so his hands are on her thighs and he’s looking up at her, smiling. She smiles and gives a tiny chuckle. “How could I forget?”  
  
He takes her hands in his and lies to her once again. “When I get back, we’ll figure this out. You and me, this whole thing, you know? We’ll figure everything out.”

It’s a lie because he already knows what has to be done, what he’s going to have to do. All he can do is try to convince himself this is going to be far more painful for him than it will be for her.

She sits there looking at him and he thinks he sees a flash of something wet in her eye but he can’t be sure. He’s so tired of seeing her cry, he would do anything to make it all stop.

“Just kiss me, Mulder,” she says quietly.

He rises up a bit and like a magnet he’s drawn to her mouth, his hand on her cheek, his tongue finding hers as she lays back down onto his bed, pulling him with her. He starts to kiss her more intensely and he can feel himself straining against his pants, as if every part of him is reaching for her, needing her now.

She unbuttons his shirt and he discards it, moving onto hers. They finish undressing each other and are both completely naked, wrapped around each other tightly. While they continue to kiss she holds her body close to his, and he feels as if she’s somehow memorizing every inch of his with her own, as if her body is capable of forming memories the way her brain is.

He wants to give her something she likes, something she will remember. So he takes her wrists, the way she likes it, and starts to lift them over her head.

“Mulder, no…” she’s shaking her head. “I don’t want to do that tonight.”

He’s a bit puzzled but releases her hands. “Okay. What do you want?”

There’s a new softness in her eyes, something he hasn’t seen during sex before. She looks at him searchingly and it’s as if she knows something he’s not willing to say; she knows tonight is important. She places her hand on his cheek and takes a deep breath.

“I want…” she searches for the words, for her truth. “...to make love.”

Her words are raw and jarring. They awaken something within him, and although they aren’t THE words they may as well be, the way she’s looking at him right now. She’s trying to tell him that it isn’t just about the sex; this isn’t just _that._ He already knows she thinks as much, but she doesn’t know that. She’s taking a huge step, one he’s refused to take himself. His heart pounds in his chest. He wants to say _that’s exactly what we’ve been doing, Scully._

He looks at her and for the first time in a long time he sees the same Dana Scully who blew into his life seven years ago, extended her hand and set his world spinning. Every moment they’ve shared, every day that’s passed has led to this, right now. Rather than worry about the many uncertainties in their future he decides to be bold, too. When he looks in her eyes he knows she deserves to hear it. So he tells her.

“I don’t know about you, Scully, but that’s what I’ve been doing this entire time.”

She smiles and nods, another truth communicated. Whatever happens tomorrow, making love is what they will do tonight. They’ll make certain of that.

She pulls him down on top of her and kisses him passionately, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Bracing himself on his forearms he cradles her head in his hands, as if holding something precious and rare, which she is to him, more precious and rare than anything he’s ever encountered. He can feel himself getting harder against her, wanting to get closer, closer, as close as he can.

The wind picks up outside and the trees whip against his window, reminding him of a night not so long ago, a night when they first took this huge step closer to each other. He will never forget that night as long as he lives, even if that’s not very much longer.

She runs her fingers along his back and shoulder blades as she arches gently into him, letting him know she’s ready.

“Mulder...” she whispers, and he feels as if his heart will burst and break all at once. He can feel every emotion she wants to communicate bundled up in that one little word, the word he loves most to hear her say.

She holds him by the neck and looks into his eyes and all he can think is _I’m dying, Scully, you deserve so much more than this._ It’s happening to him, of course, but it’s happening to her too. Him dying will be the final insult; the final cruel and unusual punishment he will unwillingly inflict upon Dana Scully, the woman he loves. It’s too much. He would take every atom of her pain from her if he could. But he can’t this time; it’s out of his control.

He makes a decision in this moment to make this as easy as possible for her. This will be the last time, the last time he gets to make love to her, the last time he gets to see the look in her eyes when she cries out his name, the last time he can feel like he deserves her.

He needs to let her go.

“Scully.”

Just as she did, he pours everything he’s feeling into the single word, the one that feels most right on his lips, the one that feels like home. She is his last refuge and he has to leave her. He parts her legs, reaching for her warmth, entering her slowly and completely.

He doesn’t move inside her yet, but instead holds her closely and interlocks his fingers behind her head. He kisses her face, her nose, her eyes, her chin, then finally her mouth, where he gives himself to her as much as he knows how; as much as he can. Then, with agonizing slowness, he begins to move.

Her fingers swirl through the soft hair behind his neck, connecting to him in the way he likes most. He breaks the kiss so he can look at her and as they look at one another he sees his whole world in her eyes, he sees nights spent together in rental cars for hours upon end, dancing lights in the sky and expressions of wonder. He sees huffs of frustration and sighs of skepticism, embraces of comfort and the warmth of her hand in his. He sees monsters, with or without pathos, and extraterrestrial biological entities. He sees unequivocal trust and faith in him, in spite of everything he’s put her through. And above all he sees love, the love she has for him in this world inside her eyes, beaming out at him like radiation. He can feel it everywhere, when he looks at her, when he hears her, when he holds her, when he tastes her, and he knows she feels it too.

She knows, whether he says it or not. The proof she so desperately seeks is right here in his eyes.

He’s so engrossed in thoughts of her he barely registers they’ve both finished, and she pulls him down to drink him in. He lays down and pulls himself into her chest, listening to her heart; this heart he loves more than anything, the one racing just for him. He can feel his own heart start to break.

He’s filled with regret that they’ve had so little time together. He should have kissed her in his hallway two years ago. He wasted so much of his time being afraid and now he has something to really be afraid of. He feels like a fool.

After several minutes of just listening to her heart beating he wonders what to say to her. Before he can think of anything, she speaks.

“When you come back…” she starts. She hesitates, again, probably afraid to say whatever it is. “...will you still be mine?”

Whatever happens, he knows one thing is for sure. There could never be anyone else.

“I’m all yours, Scully. I always have been.”

 

***

 

His brain is on fire again. Muddied, full of confusion. He sees the ship above him, and can hear voices calling to him, calling him to join them.

He tries to think of Scully, his last words to her. A kiss, a touch. A goodbye. His death is imminent. Maybe this is how it’s meant to be.

He is Fox Mulder, seeker of the truth. The compulsion to go is powerful.

He steps into the light.

 


	14. First Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byers' eyes are full of sadness, and she wonders what bet he lost to be the one of the three of them to have to tell her. But she already knows. He simply shakes his head and she feels her world collapsing around her, pieces of it falling down, slipping away from her like paint dripping down the walls, leaving behind an incomprehensible mess.

****  


**Requiem**

**(2000)**

  
  


“Can you… repeat that, please?”

The doctor looks at her, a bit confused. “I said you don’t want to do anything too strenuous, anything that might aggravate the pregnancy.”

Scully looks at the doctor. “What pregnancy?”

“You know you’re pregnant, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, the word rolling around in her brain like an errant marble.

_Pregnant. Pregnant. It must be a mistake._

“That can’t be me, are you sure you have the right chart?”

The doctor looks at the chart in his hand. “Dana Scully, says right here. Positive pregnancy.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Doctor… are you absolutely, one hundred percent certain this isn’t a mistake?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana.”

She feels a flush throughout her entire body, shock, incredulity, but above all… happiness.

_This has to be a miracle, it has to be. Straight from God._

If this is true, she’s pregnant with Mulder’s baby. What they’d planned all along is now a reality, in spite of the failures, in spite of her infertility, in spite of everything, somehow, it worked. There is a tiny life inside her that they made together. She can hardly believe her good fortune.

She does some mental math, counting backwards. Almost eight weeks they’ve been having sex; it could have been any one of those times. She tries to remember the first time she was feeling sick, now that she knows what was causing it. Probably Missouri, during the invisible man debacle. Could she really be a month along already and not have realized?

Her hands go to her abdomen and her breath catches in her chest. _A baby, a miracle, after everything._ She can’t wait to tell Mulder when he gets back. He’ll open his door, she’ll leap up into his arms and cover his face with kisses shouting “It worked! _It worked!”_ He will spin her around and hold her so tight and they’ll laugh and smile and be so, so happy. Finally.

And then she will tell him she loves him. Whatever has been holding her back thus far no longer seems relevant. This news changes everything. She loves him and he should know it, really know it.

Suddenly, however, she’s gripped with uncertainty. Before, when they’d tried to make a baby, things were so different. They weren’t in this… relationship, whatever it is. He’d never actually agreed to be an active participant in raising a child with her, but she has to admit now, after everything, that’s what she wants, badly.

Could it be something he wants too, now? Would this be something he could do with her?

Then she remembers what he’d said to her just last night; that he is hers, all hers. He always had been. But he still hadn’t told her what she wanted most to hear. He still held that back from her, as she did him. Not to mention how strangely he’s been behaving over the past few days, being evasive, secretive.

Being Mulder.

How will he take this news?

  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  


_“Mulder, come back to me.”_

_She hears her own voice and can see him walking away, his back to her, towards a light. She knows exactly what this is, but she doesn’t want to believe it. She calls to him but he’s already gone, and her heart feels like it’s being squeezed tighter and tighter, as if it’s being ripped out of her chest. As if with every step he walks away from her, she loses another heartbeat._

She awakens in the hospital, the sounds of beeping monitors and activity just outside the door. She clutches her chest, breathing heavily, and is reminded of the last time she felt this pain, when Ken Nacimiento plunged his hand into her chest and attempted to violently extract her beating heart. That time she awakened and Mulder was there, like always, gathering her into his arms and making her feel safe. She could always count on him to be there.

But not this time.

_Where is he?_

She isn’t exactly sure how long she’s been in the hospital. She knows she passed out, and had that brief conversation with the doctor. But it’s certainly been long enough to have heard from Mulder. The Gunmen were with her when it happened, they’d have told him she was here.

She stares straight ahead, trying to calm down, closing her eyes. She’d been so distracted with news of her pregnancy she’d almost forgotten what she’d learned before she passed out. Memories of what happened before everything went black resurface, and she’s reminded of the pattern she discovered: that Mulder’s anomalous brain activity from months ago was exactly what put him in the path of the very danger he’d kept her away from.

He should be here, he should be with her by now, and he isn’t. A cold chill envelops her heart and she can’t explain it, she doesn’t know how or why but she knows something is very, very wrong.

“Agent Scully?” A soft, kind voice comes from the room. A familiar voice. She turns to see Byers sitting in a chair next to her. “Are you okay? You awoke with a start.”

“I’m.. I’m fine, thank you Byers.”

“Frohike and I brought you here right after you passed out. They wouldn’t tell me much, they said you’re going to be fine, you just had some nausea and maybe the beginning of some kind of panic attack.”

She doesn’t want to hear any of that, the doctors have told her everything she needs to know about that. She looks at him imploringly, her eyes communicating her need. He understands.

“I stayed behind because… well, Langly had been tracking Mulder and Skinner in Oregon.”

“Tell me, Byers,” she practically whispers, her voice pleading.

His eyes are full of sadness, and she wonders what bet he lost to be the one of the three of them to have to tell her. But she already knows. He simply shakes his head and she feels her world collapsing around her, pieces of it falling down, slipping away from her like paint dripping down the walls, leaving behind an incomprehensible mess.

She should have known he needed her, she should have gone with him. She could have stopped this. The information she’d learned she could have shared, warned him about. He needed her and she’d failed him.

And the baby. He doesn’t even know about the baby.

She inhales sharply, and exhales, trying to control her breathing, trying to keep from crying.

“Do you need anything?” Byers asks quietly.

“I think I need to be alone, now. Please.”

He nods, giving her hand a squeeze, and she thanks him as he bids a hasty retreat. The door closes and she turns to her side and weeps.

  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  


Sleep has been erratic, bringing her in and out of consciousness. After Skinner leaves, she wonders if telling him about her pregnancy was the wisest choice. She doesn’t doubt his discretion at all, but she worries now about something less tangible: that just putting it out there, telling another soul, makes it real.

Everything feels like a nightmare. She almost wishes it weren’t true.

Mulder is gone, perhaps forever. She can feel her heart breaking into a thousand pieces and for the first time in her entire life feels like it might actually kill her; that she might possibly die of a broken heart right here in this hospital bed.

She meant it when she told him she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. But she has to live, she has to. She has their child to think about now.

The visions began just a few hours ago. They were frightening, and felt real. She could see Mulder clear as day, strapped to some alien-looking apparatus, being tortured. Every time she sees it, it’s almost too much to bear.

Scully has had visions before that she cannot deny. But these feel different. She isn’t seeing ghosts, or apparitions. She sees Mulder, and she sees him within herself. As if something within is showing him to her.

As if her baby is showing him to her.

Once this thought enters her mind as a possibility, she finds it difficult to shake. It’s the first time she wonders about this child, about how special it is. This miracle child of which she can deduce absolutely no origin.

Suddenly she’s filled with anger at God. If this is his doing, then it’s more cruel than leaving her barren in the first place.

But it wasn’t God who stole her reproductive abilities, it wasn’t God who abducted her and gave her cancer. It wasn’t God who even cured her cancer. It was men, evil men. She knows this much with certainty.

Who or what is responsible for this child?

She’s never felt so introspective in her life before. Every time she’s faced with the idea of God and his works in the world she actively avoids the topic. But now she has to grapple with it. Here, inside her own body, is evidence of some kind of miracle. Is it God? Is it men? Is it Mulder?

Even thinking about him right now is too painful. She squeezes her eyes shut and if she can thank God for anything, it’s for allowing her to fall mercifully asleep.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


He feels a terrible pain in his heart that will not subside. It’s relentless, unyielding, unmanageable. It’s not the buzzsaw currently ripping into his chest, either. He can see the skin and blood rupturing in front of him, hear the whir of the saw and the sounds of metal cutting into bone. He knows this should hurt.

But all he feels is Scully.

He feels her, within, even though he is without. As if some external force has bound them.

He wants to believe he’ll see her again.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some Scully insight while Mulder is gone, I suggest [Chapter 10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34304735) and [Chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34324779) of Culmination, both angst aplenty, but helps fill in some story gaps between now and the next chapter. Those are optional, but I urge you to read [Chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34342815) at the very least, otherwise the jump from this chapter to the next will be very jarring. I won't be dealing with Mulder's awkward behavior towards Scully (because I already did) so reading chap 12 is imperative to understand how they come out of that.
> 
> Don't worry, the next chapter will be happy.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your feedback! It means the world to me :)


	15. First Kick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He reaches his hand out to touch her belly, only skin and muscle and membrane separating his touch from their child. He hasn’t felt it move yet but wants to, badly. A flood of emotion enters his mind and he can’t escape the fact that in a matter of weeks he’ll be a father. He hasn’t prepared for this, not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read [Chapter 12 of Culmination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34342815) if you haven’t already. It fills in some important details between the last chapter and this one. I have no desire to revisit the weird behavior between M/S when he returns, so I’m skipping ahead to better times.
> 
> A lot of Mulder POV in the upcoming chapters. I was hoping to get Scully POV for the pregnancy sex but story-wise it needed to be Mulder. Enjoy being in his brain for awhile :)

**Empedocles**

 

**(2001)**

 

Mulder pulls up a chair next to her hospital bed, something he’s quite used to doing. It’s an unfortunate thing to be used to, but he’s relieved that this time what happened to her isn’t a mystery; it isn’t something strange or insidious. It’s not something that can’t be programmed, categorized, or easily referenced. _Partial abruption._ He hears the medical terminology in Scully’s voice in his brain and it’s oddly comforting.  It’s as ordinary a scenario as he could have hoped for at this stage.

Returning from the dead, however, is very strange indeed. What must have been an eternity to Scully passed for him in what felt like an instant, and after the torture and the nothingness, he’s suddenly been thrust into _something_ ness once again.

The awkward feelings that had passed between them had thankfully been short lived. A period of recalibration had been necessary for the both of them. But simple miscommunication had robbed them of the reunion they should have had, that they had days too late.

He still can’t quite wrap his head around any of it; she’s here, they are back together, but everything has changed. Everything feels different. She’s pregnant with his baby, and although this was a circumstance he’d in fact planned for at one time, he’d written it off as an impossibility after the in vitro failed months and months ago. Being faced with it now, larger than life, is nothing less than shocking.

He’s filled with contradictory emotions: mostly overwhelming happiness for Scully, and how amazing it is to help make her dream come true. But also sadness and regret for missing her entire pregnancy. For not being there for her when she needed him, for inadvertently putting her through such heartache. His biggest fear in the final weeks of his past life was Scully having to deal with his death. Now he’s back, but she had to deal with it anyway.

He also feels a great deal of pressure to be something to her he’s not sure if he’s comfortable being, not yet. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be; on the contrary, he does. It just feels like everything has been thrust into an unstoppable forward motion, that this baby is coming and he hasn’t had enough time to process that fact. He hasn’t had time to acclimate himself to this new role he will certainly be expected to play in Scully’s life; in their child’s life.

He hasn’t talked to her yet about this, not really. It’s one more aspect of their new situation he’s still trying to navigate. He wants to be there for her, and he will be. But everything is moving so fast now. He laughs inwardly at the irony of such a scenario; they both waited so long to begin this new relationship and now they’re being forced to define it so quickly. There’s a deadline, a ticking clock.

He reaches his hand out to touch her belly, only skin and muscle and membrane separating his touch from their child. He hasn’t felt it move yet but wants to, badly. A flood of emotion enters his mind and he can’t escape the fact that in a matter of weeks he’ll be a father. He hasn’t prepared for this, not at all. There is happiness and hope, but also dread; the lack of information either of them has about the mere existence of this child has him worried, very worried.

He hasn’t let Scully in completely on his fears because the last thing she needs in the final stages of her pregnancy is more to stress about. But he won’t be at ease until he knows the real truth of it. He won’t really know anything for sure until he holds their child in his arms.

Scully covers his hand with her own and rubs it gently. He’s thankful they made it past all the uncomfortable feelings they’d both experienced upon his return, but things still remain unsaid.

Namely, three words remain unsaid.

He strokes her hair gently with his other hand, and all he can think about is how much he wants to tell her he loves her and now he can. Nothing is stopping him anymore. Now it’s no longer fear, only butterflies. So he still hesitates. He’s waited so long that he wants it to be perfect, worth waiting for. She’s laid up in a hospital bed, possibly even a bit druggy. It doesn’t feel right.

Maybe tomorrow.

“Tell me more about this Agent Doggett,” he says, sitting back into his chair, interlacing his fingers together across his chest. They’d just finished discussing his progress in the field with both Doggett and Reyes.

“Hmm,” she begins slowly, still tired from her ordeal. “Well, imagine me, but with even less inclination to entertain an extreme possibility and absolutely zero interest in indulging you.”

“Yikes.”

She laughs. “But I’m serious, Mulder. I don't mean to sell him short. He’s a hard nut to crack, but well worth the effort.”

Whatever Scully has to say about the new guy, Mulder knows this situation is as bad as he feared. His disappearance seemed like the perfect opportunity for the FBI to all but dissolve the X Files unit once and for all. With this Agent Doggett running it now, he’s not sure what to expect.

“God, I could really go for that pizza right about now,” Scully suddenly says. Mulder thinks about the delivered pie, sitting on her coffee table as they speak, probably growing a new ecosystem on top.

“Want me to go get you some?” he offers.

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

He nods, smiling. “Okay. Not going anywhere.”

She closes her eyes and leans back into her pillow. He wonders if she needs to sleep.

“Do you want to rest? I can just sit here and be quiet. Or I can sing to you, I guess. But only because you’re carrying our baby.”

“They’re keeping me on bed rest for a week, Mulder. I’ll be getting plenty of sleep. Just sit and talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.” He pauses, then has a thought. “Bed rest for a week… I imagine that means no other bed-related activities?”

She exhales, her eyes opening wide, and looks at the ceiling. “Goddamnit. You’re right. Shit.”

“Scully! The kid is listening.”

Suddenly she puts her hand against her forehead and it looks like she’s trying not to cry.

“Scully, what’s wrong?”

“Just ignore me, it’s nothing,” she sniffs. “These fucking hormones. Trust me, this week will be worse for me than for you. The third trimester is a bitch, Mulder.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure you’re right, but… I’ve been _dead.”_

“Touché.”

Suddenly he’s wearing his panic face. “Wait, Scully… that’s not… the reason this partial abruption thing happened, is it?”

They’d had sex the day before; it had been extremely fast and Scully had been rather... zealous. He had no complaints, but he’d hate to think he’d been the cause of anything that caused her discomfort, or worse, put the baby at risk.

She shakes her head and smiles at him. “No, not a chance. Don’t beat yourself up.” She reaches out for his hand. “And don’t flatter yourself, either.”

He chuckles. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“And you’ll be back on duty in that regard in…” she glances up at the clock on the wall. “Six days and fourteen hours.”

“I’ll put it in my day planner,” he says, pointing to his temple. He sighs. “Well, it's certainly nice to be wanted by _some_ one.”

He can’t help but feel a bit of melancholy at the huge changes going on. Everything on the X Files is still in such flux. With Kersh in charge, his days are most certainly numbered and he knows it, undead or not. He wants to laugh at the irony of this entire thing from Kersh’s perspective, finally being rid of the Mulder thorn in his side, and how unfair it must seem to have him literally back from the dead. He’d feel sorry for the guy if he wasn’t such a prick.

“I’m sorry this is all happening now,” she says to him softly. “I really am. I obviously didn’t plan this.”

He shakes his head immediately. “No, Scully. I don’t ever want you to worry about that. I don’t ever want you to put my needs in front of yours.”

“Your needs _are_ mine, Mulder. You have to know that.”

He smiles warmly. It never fails to amaze him how much she cares about him in spite of everything. She has much more important things to be thinking about, worrying about. Yet she will always lend him her support. It floors him, as ever.

He can’t help but think of years ago when she was in a hospital bed just like this one. She was dying, and still the thing that mattered to her most was that he would be okay.

_If I can save you, let me._

“Thanks,” is all he can say. “I do know that, and I appreciate it. More than you know.”

She’s not wrong, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. The timing couldn’t be worse. Scully leaving the X Files just when he’s returned means an end to the department he knew, the way things were. This particular change he hates, but he’s too grateful to be alive at all right now to be selfish.

She yawns, and he can tell she really does need to sleep.

“Hey, I was going through some of the cases you and Agent Doggett worked on while I was gone. What the fuck was up with that banana slug Jesus?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You would’ve liked that one.”

She begins to tell him the story and just as he suspected might happen, she falls asleep after a couple minutes. He settles back into his chair and soon enough he is dozing himself.

 

***

 

Mulder spends as much of the week with Scully as possible, staying at her place, bringing her whatever she needs and enjoying playing doctor to her for once. He takes time off work, because although being dead had technically voided his vacation hours, the FBI was more than thrilled to give them back to him. Rather than take this as a personal insult, he agrees to spend a few days at home with a bored and housebound Scully.

They can’t do much, other than sit and talk, so it’s all they do. She apprises him of the cases she’d worked on while he was gone, and he goes over them with her the exact way they used to. It’s like a game, and a fun one at that. It keeps their minds off the elephant in the room, which is all the sex they can’t be having.

She keeps to the doctor’s orders for the first two days but soon decides she’ll follow her own orders, slowly making her way up and around the apartment by herself. By the end of the fifth day he can hardly believe she had been on bed rest at all.

At the end of the allotted six days and fourteen hours, he’s at home tending to his sorely neglected fish when he receives a text message from Scully reading simply “ _COME OVER NOW_.”

A wave of panic crashes over him and he throws his jacket on, rushing out the door. _She should have followed the doctor’s orders_ , he thinks. _Something has to be wrong._ He dials her number as he races over to her place, the light rain causing more traffic than he’d like. No answer.

He practically drives his car up onto the curb outside her building and rushes up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He unlocks the door to her apartment with his key and is barely past the threshold calling “Scully?!” when he feels her on him, clawing at his clothes and kissing his neck. She seems wild, ravenous, out of control.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he holds her by the shoulders. “You’re okay?”

She looks confused, then a bit abashed. “Oh my god, I’m sorry! You were worried?”

“You scared me half to death, Scully!” he says. “Don’t do that!”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine,” she says regretfully as she helps him take his jacket off.

He exhales loudly, his eyes darting up to the ceiling. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

“Um. Shower?” she answers, not helpfully. He shakes his head, sighing, and she wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

“Sorry, Mulder. I swear this baby is making me lose brain cells. All I’ve thought about the past two days is sex. I’m going out of my mind.”

“I’ll say. You should know I don’t think I locked my front door and I’m pretty sure I screwed up my tire alignment.”

“Do you forgive me? Are we done with this now?”

“I guess so.”

She immediately goes back to mauling him, pressing him backwards against the door and unbuckling his belt. He laughs into her mouth, trying to get on her level. She grins back as she continues to remove his pants.

“You know, usually I get to know a girl first.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she growls into his ear. “I know you’re a romantic and all, but please. This is a mercy fuck.”

“Agent Scully,” he says with mock horror, as he steps out of his jeans. “Was this… a _booty call_?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

“I know I already told you this, but I’m a big fan of Pregnant Scully.”

She drags him away from the door, kissing and groping, removing his shirt. He wants to laugh at her abrupt manner or make some kind of attempt to slow her down but the truth is he missed her so much that he finds himself pulling at the tie on her robe as they both laugh and make their way across the living room.

“I guess we’re in the clear, then?” he asks, his question muffled by her mouth on his.

She pulls away to answer. “I’m pretty sure we were in the clear two days ago, but you know me… I go by the book.”

They’ve stepped into her bedroom and she moves away from him for a moment, smiling, dropping the robe. She’s completely naked underneath and he finds himself looking at a version of Scully unlike any other he’s seen before. The sex they’d had on her couch a few days ago was brief and mostly clothed; and this is the first time he’s seeing her quite like this.

His jaw is agape as he stares at her body. Her curves are perfectly accentuated, her round belly protruding. Her breasts are larger, fuller. Her skin has a distinct “glow” to it, exactly like they say happens to pregnant women.

And she’s carrying their baby. He’s never looked at anything more beautiful in his life.

“Wow, Scully.”

She smiles, “I’ll take ‘wow.’ I feel like an elephant but I’m so horny right now I don’t care.”

He shakes his head. “No, definitely not an elephant. The things I want to do to you are definitely not things I’d do to an elephant.”

“Mulder, ew.”

“Sorry. Just wanted to clarify you do not look like an elephant.”

“Stop saying elephant, okay?”

He decides to stop talking altogether and covers her mouth with his. He feels a welcome comfort come over him, like every time he gets to do this is a gift. Dying has a way of making you appreciate everything, even the little things, he supposes. Even things that are different and new. Her body looks different, feels different. Even her tongue tastes different. But underneath it all she’s still undeniably Scully, and they’re here together again. He feels lucky he gets to see her this way, that he happened to return in time for this part. It’s much better than the alternative, anyway.

His hands instinctively go to her abdomen as they kiss, and he holds it between his hands as her fingers thread through his hair, her tongue massaging his, her touch making him a whole person again, as always.

He backs away for a second, gazing at her. “Excuse my frankness, Scully, but your tits look fantastic.”

Her eyes widen and she grins at him, taking his hands and placing them on said tits.

“Unfortunately there’s a clock on these, so enjoy them while you can.”

He does, tracing their full roundness with his fingers, eliciting guttural moans from her lips as he palms and caresses, flicks and pinches, a new fantastic journey he’s thrilled to take. It seems to be the right call, because her head tilts back and “ _Mulderrrrrr_ …” she says, seemingly involuntarily.

He bends down to kiss her belly, his hands still cupping her breasts. As his lips drag softly across the taut skin he suddenly feels a sharp jab beneath them. Shocked, he pulls back.

“I think the kid just kicked me in the face,” he says matter-of-factly. Her hands go down to her belly and then she takes his in her own, placing them at the source of the kick.

“Shh!” she shushes, and they stand there in silence. After a few seconds the kick comes again, harder and stronger. The grin Mulder feels across his face is wider than even he anticipated. He laughs in wonder, looking up at her, and she’s smiling back down at him with pure bliss on her face.

“Hey there, little guy,” Mulder says quietly. He looks up at Scully. “Or girl…?”

Her enigmatic face betrays nothing, as per usual. He holds his hands in place and waits to feel it again. He can’t help but notice Scully has put her own needs on hold for the time being, cognizant of the enormity of this moment for him. It makes him love her even more.

They wait silently for a little while but no more kicks come. He glances up at her and can see tears in her eyes. He stands up to wipe them away.

“Please don’t cry,” he says with concern.

She shakes her head and smiles. “I’m sorry, it’s fine. It’s nothing.”

His thumb wipes a tear away and he leans in to kiss her softly. He knows why she’s crying, she doesn’t have to say it. He can only imagine how many kicks he’s missed.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here, Scully.” It’s all he needs to say.

She holds his face in her hands and kisses him again, her intensity picking back up to where it was before. She moves him backwards until his legs are against the bed and pulls his boxers off, pushing him down onto the bed. She crawls on her knees until she’s straddling him, sitting on his thighs, and he’s amazed at how light she is, how small and petite even into her last month of pregnancy.

“I’m sure there are multiple ways to do this, but this way is comfortable for me, okay?”

“Do to me what you will, G-woman. I’m just enjoying the view.” He lays back and interlocks his fingers behind his head. It’s clear who’s driving tonight.

Smiling, she looks down and wraps her fingers around him, already at full mast, and rises up onto her knees. She maneuvers her body down to align their sexes, which seems to take some effort, as she’s ostensibly flying blind. Just as he’s wondering if he should help her out he feels her heat sliding down upon him, all the way down, surrounding him completely, and he can see her eyes close as she exhales a deep breath.

“Jesus Christ…” she whispers. “Mulder, you have no idea how amazing this feels.”

He shrugs a bit, and reaches over to squeeze her ass a couple times. “I don’t know. I think I have some idea.”

“No, this… this is different. It’s unreal. It makes everything worth it, the morning sickness, the muscle aches, even doing it all without you here. This right now makes it all worth it.”

He doesn’t believe her for a second, but he’s happy that for the moment she’s feeling so good. She starts to move on top of him, back and forth slowly, and with every movement he can see her facial expression change, and new sounds are coming out of her mouth, and it’s all so unusual he wonders if maybe he is wrong; maybe it _is_ worth it for her.

She rolls around on him every which way and as amazing as it feels, he’s enjoying watching her face more than anything else. She just looks so… happy, so content.

So relieved in so many ways.

She lays forward onto him as well as she’s able, her hands on his chest, opening her eyes to look into his. He sees relief, but he also sees love and excitement and a wistfulness he already knows she’s feeling.

“I missed you so much, Mulder,” she says in a hitched voice that becomes a whisper. “So much. I can’t believe you’re here with me. I can’t believe I have you back.”

He doesn’t say anything but the sentiment is there and he tells her with his eyes, the way he usually does, the way he’s good at. He takes her face in his hands and leans forward to kiss her, pouring his very soul into the kiss, sharing in her disbelief, but not in his return. The disbelief that he could ever be so lucky to have her.

His mind hasn’t been focused on his own pleasure at all but his body certainly has been, and suddenly he feels close to his peak, closer than he’d like to be if she hasn’t gotten there yet. But very suddenly she pulls away from him and yelps loudly, her thighs gripping his sides, and leans back as far as she can, throwing her head back with one last, loud “Mulderrrrr…” and then lazily looks over to him just as he goes over the edge himself, grabbing onto her hips firmly.

She sighs contentedly, rolling off him onto her back.

“That was easy,” he points out. She breathes heavily, smiling widely, and pats his stomach a few times. He takes her hand into his own and lifts it to his lips to kiss it, turning onto his side to face her.

“Yes, yes it was. Thank you.”

They lay there side by side, breathing in sync, hands clasped together. After a minute he rolls away from her to get his shorts back on, and she moves to shift her body underneath the sheets. He climbs into bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her shoulder.

“Have your needs been met, Agent?” he asks.

“Yes, thanks.” She yawns. “You’re off duty for the time being.”

“I feel so used.”

“I’m sorry, it’s all the time, Mulder. I wasn’t kidding. All the fucking time.”

“It’s okay. You can use me anytime, Scully.”

“Really?”

He leans forward and kisses her temple. “Anytime.”

She sighs contentedly and holds his hand in front of her, and his other hand immediately moves back over her stomach, holding her close to him. He only wants to focus on the feeling of her belly, running his hand all over it, waiting for the kick he knows might be coming.

After a minute he feels it, directly into his palm. He gasps, a gasp that turns into a tiny chuckle.

“That’s so amazing.”

“Isn’t it?”

She covers his hand with her own and they lie there together, as close as can be.

“Does it ever get old?”

“Never,” she says.

He finds himself staring at the back of her neck, right where her hair stops, right where the chip that ruined her life then saved it still resides, just under her skin, mocking him. Reminding him again how much she’s lost because of him.

Pushing these thoughts away, he thinks of something nicer. His child, right here with them, the life they created together, and he can physically feel it. After being surrounded by so much death, it’s such a blessing to have right now. All his thoughts and regrets about missing almost her entire pregnancy suddenly don’t matter anymore. He is alive, and she is here. He got to feel their baby kick. He closes his eyes and waits for sleep, more thankful than he’s ever been before in his life.

 


	16. First I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She yawns widely, the third trimester exhaustion taking its toll. She won’t wait forever to tell him. Once this baby is born and she knows the truth, the real truth, all her fears and doubts will disappear and the words will come tumbling out of her mouth the way they should have years ago. She knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The signs of Mulder's cohabitation come from [this Twitter thread](https://twitter.com/xfilesdiaries/status/1045867372874092545).

 

 

**Essence/ Existence**

 

**(2001)**

 

Scully carries the vase of droopy pink tulips from the table behind the couch over to the kitchen to dispose of them. The “I’m Sorry I Behaved Like a Douchebag When I Returned From the Dead” flowers Mulder had given to her have wilted over the past week much like the awkwardness itself.

Mulder is most certainly a romantic and has proven this over the relatively short course of their new relationship. But flowers are rare. She isn’t disappointed, because it made these all the more special. The only other time she recalled him bringing her flowers was in the oncology department after learning about her cancer. It was quite a different occasion, quite a different mood. Mulder as the apologetic puppy dog boyfriend type isn’t something she’s used to.

Things feel good between them again, really good. Mulder hasn’t officially moved in to her place, but after she’d had the partial abruption scare she noticed he was hesitant to go home much, perhaps out of worry for her so close to the end of her pregnancy. She’s used to him being protective of her, and right now she’s okay with it.

Signs of his cohabitation are everywhere. A red toothbrush right next to her blue one. His dirty clothes in her hamper. Even the shirt he wore today while rescuing Agents Doggett and Harrison has been unceremoniously discarded into her dry cleaning bag right on top of her suits and blouses.

She’d kept his apartment for him all these months because she couldn’t let it go. It felt silly at the time, but the fact that his apartment still exists and he is choosing to stay with her instead makes her feel good, _really_ good.

She gives him a slight pout as she pours the murky brown water into the sink and places the flowers into the trash.

“Makes me sad to throw these away,” she says to him.

He shrugs. “Most gifts don’t last forever.”

“They do if you keep regifting them,” she smirks as she sits on the couch next to him.

He shakes his head. “You just gave away my present. Unbelievable.”

The Apollo 11 medallion Mulder had given to her years ago had sat in a desk drawer all that time. She hadn’t forgotten about it, but giving it to Agent Doggett felt right. She didn’t like leaving the X Files. It was strange to be faced with no other option, as her doctor had insisted upon her taking maternity leave immediately. The time she and Mulder knew was coming had finally come, for the both of them. 

“I never told you the real story behind that Apollo 11 medallion, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” she says.

“I was seven when the moon landing happened. My parents let me stay up to watch it. I was fascinated. I remember it so clearly, it was such a formative memory.” He smiles, remembering. “That was when I first wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Obviously,” Scully replies. She lays her head back on the couch a bit.

“My dad gave the medallion to me for Christmas that year. I told you I gave it to you because it was a cool keychain, but that’s only half true.”

She looks at him, curious.

“The reason,” he continues, “is because of all my possessions, it meant the most to me. Even at the time I gave it to you, I was giving you something that was a huge piece of me.”

“Why?” she asks. She doesn’t mean it flippantly. They were different back then, there has to be more to the story.

“I knew you were dying, Scully. I felt completely powerless. I couldn’t give you anything. So in my mind, it was the one thing I owned I could give you that meant the most.”

She smiles. “Why didn’t you tell me this story when you gave it to me?”

“You wouldn’t have run screaming for the hills?”

She shakes her head. “Definitely not. If anything, I may have kissed you first.”

He moves his hand to play with her hair a bit, tilting his head to look at her. “You say that _now,_ but I remain skeptical.”

He’s probably right. She tried and failed to make her feelings known to him for so long without success, why would this time have been any different?

“Your hair’s getting longer,” he suddenly says. “It feels really thick.”

“Is it?” she asks. She’d been so preoccupied with everything going on she hadn’t been to the salon in longer than usual. She can’t tell if his comment is a good thing or a bad thing and she’s too curious to let it slide. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s nice,” he replies. “It reminds me of the day we met.”

She smiles, remembering. Maybe she won’t get it cut after all.

“My God, Mulder…” she sighs, leaning back into his hand. “That feels like an eternity ago.”

“Probably because it was,” he agrees. He has a point. The two of them have gone through more together in the past eight years than she had in all the years prior to meeting him. Her life truly began when she met him and she knows it.

He reaches his other hand to place it on her belly and holds it there. He does it so often now she wants to laugh; it’s as if he’s making up for all the time her belly didn’t have the warmth of his hand over it. Or maybe he just really likes the kicks. The baby is in high spirits tonight and she wonders, as she has for the past several days, if this is it; if the baby is finally coming. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Maybe it just wants its father to feel the kicking as much as humanly possible before it arrives.

_Humanly possible,_ she thinks to herself. Is her baby even human? She’s kept her emotions in check over the past several months because she’s had to; every test, every scan, every doctor visit has proven normal. The DNA matched Mulder’s, and she feels like she knows everything she could possibly know about this child. So all the things she doesn’t know and may never know, such as how it exists in the first place, she tries to ignore.

She can’t help but wonder if there’s some part of her brain, some part of her heart that will always accept a miracle when it’s presented to her, much the same way she accepts the existence of God. The existence of this child is a miracle by definition, regardless of how or why it came to be. And she’s never wanted anything more in her entire life. But she can’t deny her fear, either; the fear that this child is the result of something sinister, something that could only be described as a X File. She’s tired of living with that fear, and the only thing that will allay it is the birth.

_Never give up on a miracle,_ Mulder had said to her the night they learned the in vitro had failed, the night her dream had disappeared. She wondered then and wondered now if a baby could be his dream, if it would ever be his dream. She still can’t find the courage to tell him she loves him, even though she knows she should. It’s stupid, and she knows it. But her heart wants him to say it first, and she knows that’s why she’s been holding back.

She yawns widely, the third trimester exhaustion taking its toll. She won’t wait forever to tell him. Once this baby is born and she knows the truth, the real truth, all her fears and doubts will disappear and the words will come tumbling out of her mouth the way they should have years ago. She knows it.

 

*******

 

 

It’s been a busy couple days. After the lizard-man debacle with Agents Doggett and Harrison, Mulder and Scully visit Agent Harrison in the hospital, and what they intended to be a quick visit has turned into an impromptu Q&A session. He and Scully become the target of an information excavation unlike any they've ever seen. No one has ever shown such interest in their work, and specifically in _them_ , before. Scully finds it pretty tedious after a while, but Mulder eats it up.

Eventually Scully lowers herself into one of the hospital chairs and sighs loudly, and he knows that's his cue to wrap it up. He’s noticed lately she’s become so tired that when it hits her, she can fall asleep anywhere, at any time. He doesn’t want to have to carry her out of Leyla Harrison’s hospital room and all the way back to her place, so he politely declines to answer Harrison's question about why he'd solved an X File in 1996 by claiming he was red/green colorblind.

In any event, they’re back at Scully’s place and they’re both exhausted. Mulder removes the decorative pillow from “his side” of the bed as Scully does the same. He grins at the ease and familiarity with which he’s integrated himself into this domestic existence with her.

He has a side of the bed; of _Scully’s_ bed. It’s bizarre and wonderful.

Moving in with her is the next logical step in this relationship, and although they’ve done every damn thing possible in the wrong order, he intends to start doing things right. He’s being a chicken shit and he knows it, but he’s tired of feeling that way and makes a promise to himself that he won’t be for much longer.

He climbs into bed next to her, scooting up right behind her until he’s holding her tight, his head next to hers, the scent of her hair continuing to verify his own existence. He’s alive, he’s back. She’s here, and everything feels good.

“Thanks for doing that Lamaze class with me,” she says. “My mom was going to come, but when you came back…” she trails off.

“She bowed out gracefully?” he suggests.

She laughs. “She has the shower to get ready for tomorrow, she’s plenty busy.”

“Cutting it a little close with that, aren’t you?” he asks. The baby is due in only a couple days.

“Well… she kind of threw one together at the last minute. I didn’t want to have one at all. Especially with you gone. It would have just been depressing.”

He’s always uncomfortable when he thinks about how hard it must have been for her when he was gone, so he says nothing.

“I set an alarm,” she tells him, yawning. “My mom is coming over in the morning to set up and I don’t want her to walk in on you here.”

Mulder sighs. _This again._ He likes Maggie, and she likes him too. What’s the big deal?

“Why are you keeping us a secret from her, Scully? I don’t understand.”

She is quiet, and he honestly can’t fathom what she’s thinking.

“I mean… you’ve told her I’m the baby’s father, right? Of course you have.” He rolls over and faces the ceiling. Her silence is deafening.

“Scully.”

She won’t look at him.

“You haven’t told her that either?” He is absolutely incredulous. He’d never been particularly close with his own mother but this seems beyond the pale. “Scully, why not?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. She sighs. “I mean… she _knows._ Why do I have to tell her?”

They’ve had this conversation before, about Maggie not knowing what's going on between the two of them, and Scully had claimed she just didn’t want her mother knowing every little intimate detail of her life, even a huge detail, like… she was in a relationship with him. He’d done the math and figured that since they weren’t married, and weren’t even technically “official” in any sense of the term, maybe she didn’t know what to say to her mother. But after everything they’ve been to each other, after everything they _are_ to each other, it seems silly now. Her mother knows all of it, and he knows she does, just like he’s certain Scully knows she does. So why won’t she just tell her?

“Scully. That’s ludicrous. How can she possibly know that? How can she know if you don’t tell her?”

He almost can’t finish the sentence because his own words gut him like a knife. He’s been just as guilty of this very thing by putting off telling her he loves her for months.

The last time he said it was years ago while he was drugged up in a hospital bed. It hadn’t counted. Not because he didn’t mean it, because he had. Even now he’s amazed he said it to her at all, at the time. But she hadn’t believed him; either that, or she hadn’t wanted to. He’d written it off in his mind the same as she had, and they’d both pretended it never happened.

He rolls back over and puts an arm around her front, his hand over her swollen abdomen. He hears her sigh and shift in the bed, getting comfortable.

“I don’t know, Mulder.” But she doesn’t say anything more.

It suddenly occurs to him that Scully may be keeping her mother in the dark about their relationship for a reason that’s more obvious than even he wants to admit to himself: maybe it’s because she herself is in the dark. He knows she’s happy with him, and he’s happy with her. But what exactly does she want with him? Having this baby, of course, but what else? Is he giving her enough? _Has_ he given enough?

Does she want to move in together? Does she want to marry him? Does she want a ring? Does she want all the things deep down he suspects she probably wants out of life?

The fact that she hasn’t brought any of this up must mean she’s terrified to talk about any of it with him. It isn’t something he’d ever indicated to her he wanted, even though he does. They haven’t discussed their future, not really. What if she believes this is it… that this is all there is with him? That this is all there will ever be?

Suddenly he feels overwhelmingly terrible for allowing her to question his love for her. He wants a life with her, and with their baby. He wants Maggie Scully to know about them; he wants the _world_ to know about them. And he knows there is only one way, _one way_ to make her believe it.

_I love you, Scully._

He leans into her ear, softly tucking her hair behind it, and summons all his courage. He knows he’s about to say it, he can feel the words forming on his lips, and just as he leans in she lets out a tiny snore, and he realizes in an instant she is asleep and wouldn’t hear him even if he did say it. He’s struck by how disappointing this turn of events is, but shakes his head and smiles to himself, gives her tummy one last rub and turns onto his back, waiting for sleep to take him as well.

Maybe tomorrow.

 

***

 

Things had gotten undeniably busy the last couple days, and in between alien replicants and car chases and getting Scully to the hospital after the birth he wasn’t present for, it never seemed like the proper moment. But there has never been and will never be a better one than right now, and he takes a deep breath before he rounds the door jamb to her bedroom, seeing her holding their baby.

She hands him over and Mulder holds his son between them, gazing at his tiny face. It doesn’t quite feel real yet, and he imagines this must be true for most new parents.

“From the moment I became pregnant, I feared the truth,” Scully says hesitantly. “About how, and why. And I know you feared it, too.”

He still has questions, lots of questions. He finds it incredible that Scully doesn’t seem to. It’s not like her to not question something, to not try to understand or explain it. But she can get this way sometimes with matters of faith. She wants to believe William is everything she expected him to be. Nothing more; nothing less. He wants to believe it, too. So their child will remain this way in her heart, just as he will in his own. Nothing will ever change the way they feel right now, in this moment. So regardless of his multitude of questions without answers, he only has one response for her.

“I think what we feared were the possibilities. The truth we both know,” he says, looking into her eyes.

“Which is what?”

He can hear in her voice she wants him to say it, that they know the truth. No matter what happens, no matter how this child came to be exactly, here he is between them now; the physical manifestation of their love for each other.

The proof.

He won’t wait anymore. It’s time.

He leans in to kiss her, and she kisses him back. It feels like a declaration but it isn’t good enough, not for him, not right now. He realizes the baby is in the way of holding her the way he wants to when he says it, so he pulls away, smiling, walking William over to his bassinet. It will be perfect, he’s going to make sure of that.

Then he and Scully meet again, their lips telling each other the truth with every breath. They’ve been doing this for a while now, telling each other their truth with their bodies, but he’s finally ready to tell her with his words.

He pulls away and looks into her eyes, and as perfect as this moment is, he suddenly realizes there really is no perfect moment, there never was. The perfect moment is _now_ and it always should have been. He holds her face in his hands.

“I love you, Scully,” he says, and her eyes close and her lips curve up into the smile that has the power to fill every corner of his heart. He can tell she’s wanted to hear it from him for a long time.

“I love you too, Mulder,” she replies, and suddenly it’s as if nothing before this moment existed, that here and now is exactly where he’s meant to be. He kisses her softly on the lips, then again on her forehead, almost unwilling to believe how lucky they are, how precious and rare this love between them is. How long it took them to get to this moment and, when it finally arrived, how simple and right it feels.

She wraps her arms around him and they hold each other, and time seems to slow down as it tends to do when things become very clear. A weight has been lifted off his chest and the enormity of this moment hits him; they have literally nowhere else to go. This is it, finally, it’s the two of them together exactly the way it’s meant to be.

William fusses from the bassinet a bit, and she lets him go to pick up the baby, settling down into her easy chair. He’d been with her in the hospital the past couple days but everything has felt like such a whirlwind. It’s the first time things feel settled and comfortable. It’s the first time he feels grounded.

Scully adjusts William next to her breast and allows him to latch, Mulder watching a bit, marveling at this new Scully, this mother, yet another new version of her he gets to meet. He wonders if he’ll ever stop meeting new versions of her.

“Does that… hurt, at all?” he asks curiously. She shakes her head, smiling at him. She’s never looked so calm, serene. She’s never looked more beautiful.

He’s never been so in love.

“It feels wonderful,” she admits.

“I mean… I know when _I_ do it, it’s pretty fucking great.”

“Don’t be gross,” she says, laughing. “Your son is listening.”

He kneels down in front of them, watching this amazing scene. His son. _Their_ son.

“He’s going to get plenty of ‘gross’ growing up with me, Scully. Better get used to it.”

She smiles. “I’m counting on it. Let’s just try to keep it to when he’s not eating, okay?”

“I love you,” he suddenly blurts out again. “I don’t want to stop telling you. I love you, Scully.”

She closes her eyes, as if she needs to physically prepare herself for such an admission from him every time.

“I just keep thinking about all the time we’ve spent not telling each other the truth,” he continues.  “All that time wasted.”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, Mulder. We’re here, now. Together. And William. It’s all I ever wanted.”

He looks down at the baby again. It’s amazing to think he’s only just declared his love for Scully, and already he’s falling in love with this new person; this tiny being in their lives that they made together. He gazes at the two of them, his joy, his light. His family.

There’s only one thing to say to her in this moment of perfection, and he now has all the courage he needs to tell her. He looks at her with conviction, gently stroking William’s soft head, and can feel himself starting to choke up in spite of every tough masculine urge in his body.

“This is all I ever wanted, too, Scully,” he says. “A real family.”

 

 


	17. First Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibson has been more help to Mulder than he expected, and he’s been grateful. But sharing such a small physical space with him has made life extremely difficult. All he has are his thoughts and memories when it comes to Scully, and he isn’t even free to live inside those now. It’s cruel and unusual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between the events of "TrustNo1" and "Release."

 

**TrustNo1**

 

**(2002)**

 

_He can almost see her, almost feel her, almost taste her._

_He can sense every different version of her he’s ever known: her short fiery bob and the longer, darker hair she used to have. He can sense her flat toned stomach and also her round pregnant belly, ripe with his child. He can sense the minty toothpaste flavor in her mouth but also the taste that’s just Scully, just her, just everything she is. He can almost hear her breathy voice moaning his name over and over, the way he likes to hear it. Almost._

_“Mulder…”_

_His hands roam all over her body, around to her back, her shoulders, through her hair, and he holds them against her face where he kisses her softly. Then his kiss becomes more urgent as his tongue enters her mouth and her taste fills his memory. Now he can smell her conditioner, and he can feel her touch all over him as she moves her own hands across his stomach and down, down until she’s grasping him firmly._

_She parts her legs and hovers above him and he looks into her eyes to see her smiling, the smile he lives for, the smile he’d die for. As she moves even closer all he can feel is this burning ache that won’t go away, that hasn’t gone away for months. She’s practically upon him now and he feels her warmth as she grants him entrance and he slides into her slowly, slowly…_

_“Mulder…_

_Oh, Mulder…”_

 

 

“Mulder!”

The voice is loud and abrupt and he jerks awake, and Scully is completely gone, replaced by the youthful face of inconvenient mind reader Gibson Praise on the other side of the bunker, in a sleeping bag. His hand is raised and Mulder touches his face, feeling like something has just hit him there.

“Wha- huh…?” he replies drowsily.

“I’m sorry, but I have to wake you up when that happens. I can’t, okay? I can’t hear it.”

“Fuck, Gibson!” Mulder looks down to see the balled up piece of paper that hit his face, and turns away from the teenager to bury his head back into his pillow, more sexually frustrated than he’s been in a long, long time. “I can’t control what I dream about!”

They’ve been in this underground bunker for months, staying as hidden as possible. But he doesn’t even care anymore what the teenager hears. All he wants to do is go back, back to the dream. Back to Scully.

“Mulder, this isn’t some typical filthy dream, okay? Far be it for me to deny you your personal needs, but I _know_ Agent Scully. I respect her. It’s really, really weird. I know she wouldn’t want me hearing any of this.”

Mulder knows Gibson is right, and he has to give the kid credit for basically turning off free porn out of respect for Scully. But he can’t help it. He’s going out of his mind with longing and worry and all the things he knew he’d experience when he walked out of her apartment eight months ago.

Eight months. William is eight months old right now. He doesn’t know anything about babies at all and he wishes he did. He wishes he could picture what his son looks like, what he’s doing, what he _can_ do now.

“Crawling,” Gibson offers unexpectedly. Mulder turns to look at him. “Your kid is probably crawling on his own.”

Mulder looks at him. “How do you know this kind of stuff?”

Gibson shrugs. “Just listening. All kinds of people, all the time. You learn things you didn’t know you didn’t know.” He looks pointedly at Mulder. “And things you _definitely do not_ want to know.”

Mulder rolls his eyes and shifts in his sleeping bag. He’s uncomfortably hard from his dream and has absolutely no choice but to lie here and just fucking will it away.

“I’m not sorry. I can’t help it, okay?”

Gibson sighs and rolls over himself, his back to Mulder. “You were the one who came to me for help. You were the one who asked me to hide you.”

"I know, Gibson. And I wish you didn’t have to deal with this all the time, but I miss her, okay? I can’t just turn off my feelings. I wish I could, believe me.”

“I know you can’t,” Gibson says softly. “You need to believe _me_ , though, that I’ve tolerated a lot. A _lot._ ”

“Can we just stop talking about this, please? It’s only making it worse.”

Mulder reaches over to turn on the boom box next to his head and the Brandenburg concertos pour out into his ears. It doesn’t always work, and it makes sleep impossible, but it’s better than nothing. Stray thoughts of Scully can be better concealed when there are multiple sources of input for Gibson.

After a minute, Gibson speaks again. “Bet you didn’t anticipate this when you chose me for a roommate.”

Mulder snorts. “No. It’s definitely an unexpected dimension of this new life.”

“Can I ask you something?” Gibson suddenly says.

“Do I really have a choice?”

“How long have you been together? You and Agent Scully?”

Mulder shifts again, and wonders if this conversational angle is wise.

“It’s okay,” Gibson responds to the question he didn’t ask. “I’ll let you know if it gets weird.”

Mulder sighs and turns down the Bach. “Two years, I guess? Almost two years. It certainly doesn’t feel that long.”

Suddenly Gibson sounds wide awake. “Wait.” He sits up in his sleeping bag and looks Mulder in the eye. “Two? Only two? You’re not lying, are you?”

“What? Why would I lie about that?”

“The last time I saw you was… what, ‘98?”

“Yeah.”

Gibson shakes his head. “But even then, you two… I mean, I could hear it. From both of you. You weren’t together?”

Mulder sighs. “No, we weren’t. Not then.”

“But… why? Didn’t you want to be?” Gibson looks genuinely confused.

“Yeah, we did. But things aren’t that simple. Maybe you’ll learn that… you know. When you grow up.”

Gibson scoffs and lays back down. “I doubt it. You’re grown up and don’t seem to know what the hell you're doing, either.”

He can’t argue with the truth, so he keeps his mouth shut. Gibson is sixteen, and miles from the young boy he met years ago. There are things he understands now that he might not have back then. Mulder doesn’t question his intelligence, but maybe just fears his judgment.

“Our relationship is… very complicated, Gibson. It can’t be boiled down to one thought or one answer or even one regret. Okay?”

Gibson sighs, and Mulder takes his silence as a decision to relent. He turns back over in his sleeping bag and rather than risk another outburst from the boy, focuses his thoughts on William. It’s what he does anytime he needs to fixate on something that isn’t Scully.

He reaches under his pillow and takes out a Polaroid of his tiny son, one that Byers had helpfully taken for him just before he left. He looks at it, and it’s painful as shit to look at, but he has to. He studies the picture, trying not to think of Scully but seeing her in his eyes, and trying to find himself there, too.

He’s done little else over the past several months but search for answers; about William, about these super soldiers, and how to destroy them. Having to stay in hiding has made investigating difficult. Without the access he once enjoyed as an FBI agent the only resource he really has is Gibson, and he can only employ the kid so much. He has school to attend, and a life of his own.

Gibson has been more help to Mulder than he expected, and he’s been grateful. But sharing such a small physical space with him has made life extremely difficult. All he has are his thoughts and memories when it comes to Scully, and he isn’t even free to live inside those now. It’s cruel and unusual.

But he chose this life because he had to; he needs Gibson’s abilities to keep the super soldiers at bay. Just as he suspected, Gibson’s unique abilities have a specific use for him; he can tell who is human and who is alien. They haven’t encountered any yet, but thanks to Gibson, they’ll know one when they do.

While Gibson is at school, Mulder is alone in this bunker, day after day, with nothing to do, and very little sunlight to enjoy. He risks the outdoors from time to time because he needs to; he’s going crazy down here.

He doesn’t have to ask Gibson why he chooses to live alone down here; he already knows. Gibson is afraid of the same thing he is; he’s afraid these alien replicants will find him and destroy him. At school he feels safe and protected; the students around him are all deaf and there are half as many voices for him to have to listen to. It makes it easier to sense danger.

What they’ve uncovered about William is surprisingly little. Other than the doctors whose care Scully had been under, he has very little to go upon. His only other source of information is the goddamn cancer man and he has no desire to go anywhere near him, not anymore. Not if what he told him during his fever dreams the last time he saw him was true.

_I am your father._

He has to laugh at the melodrama of it; the cancer man uttering the same words Darth Vader said to Luke Skywalker seemed a little on the nose. Was it all just a dream? Or is what he told him the truth? There’s really no way to know for certain, not when he’s dealing with a man who deals in lies.

Then again, there’s no way to know for certain what’s going on with William either, DNA test or no DNA test. Both he and Scully have had so many things done to both of their bodies without their approval or consent over the years, and some most certainly alien. Is William just a normal child? Or is he something else? Yes, he’s a product of their love, but is he also more than just that?

He’s afraid for their son, and he’s afraid for Scully. His thoughts rarely land anywhere else.

“I know you’re worried about your kid,” Gibson suddenly says.

“Don’t you have something else to think about? Algebra, or chemistry? History of the US government?”

“I bet you can tell me more about that than a class ever could,” Gibson points out. “Pretty sure you already have.”

Mulder chuckles. _Isn’t that the goddamn truth._

“Yes, I’m worried about William. And you know why.”

Gibson looks right at him, and even by the dim lantern light Mulder can see in his eyes he’s dead serious.

“You’re worried he’s like me.”

Mulder wants to deny it, wants to assure Gibson there’s nothing wrong with him, there’s nothing wrong with his son. But Gibson knows the truth; he always does. And the truth is Mulder just doesn’t know. Maybe he never will.

“Yes, Gibson. I think he might be like you. And if he is, he’s in danger just like you are.”

_And so is Scully._

He leaves that part unsaid but knows Gibson hears it anyway. His thoughts turn to fear again; fear of violence against Scully, against William. The uncertainty is driving him so crazy he isn’t sure how much longer he can go without knowing they are safe.

They could be dead, both of them. And he wouldn’t even know it. The reasons he left them behind are valid; keeping them safe was the only reason he’d done it at all. But it can’t change the fact that there are no guarantees on that front; there never were. All he did was increase all of their chances of survival, and he knows more than anyone they’ve never been the luckiest of people. Sometimes he feels like the universe is laughing at him; that if there is a god, he enjoys squishing Mulder under his thumb like a bug.

He decides he can’t wait anymore, and tomorrow he will ask Gibson to send an email to Scully. He picks up a pen, slides the lantern over, and un-crumples the ball of paper Gibson had thrown at him; oddly enough, a receipt for bottled water, ramen noodles and sunflower seeds.

He starts to write out something that sounds enough like him that Scully will believe it, but nothing he wouldn’t want Gibson to see or any third party to intercept. He won’t give away any pertinent or sensitive information, he will only communicate the things that matter most right now: that he’s alive, that he misses her, and that he loves her.

His words of love, the very thing it took him so long to give her, are the only thing he can give her now. The irony isn’t lost on him.

“I hope you know I only want to help you, Mulder,” Gibson says. “And I’ll always do whatever I can.”

Mulder smiles, feeling warmth towards the boy that is vast and sincere. “Thanks, Gibson. I appreciate that more than you know.”

_Or maybe you do._

 

 

 

**Release**

 

**(2002)**

 

 

“Agent Scully?”

John Doggett knocks on the door of her apartment. He hadn’t been present when she handed her child over to a social worker, but Monica had, and he hadn’t needed her to tell him how difficult it had been for Scully. But it’s been two full weeks since she’s left her apartment and his concern has evolved into actual fear that she may harm herself.

“Agent Scully!”

He still has her key from when they were partners, and he doesn’t feel quite right about it, but he feels less right about walking away without making sure she’s okay. He unlocks her door and peeks inside.

“Dana, it’s John Doggett, I’m coming in.”

No answer. He closes the door quietly behind him and looks around. It’s a view of Scully’s apartment he’s never seen before. Dishes piled up in the sink, some broken on the floor. Articles of clothing discarded everywhere. A broken chair turned to its side.

 _This is bad,_ is his first obvious thought. Then he thinks of Agent Mulder, out there somewhere, no clue she’s suffering in this way. He’d be angry at him if he wasn’t so overwhelmingly sad about the entire situation.

He eventually finds her, on the far side of her bed, huddled into a ball in the corner of the room, curled into the fetal position.

“Agent Scully, are you okay?” He knows the question is idiotic but he’s not sure what else to say. She makes no movements and he isn’t sure what compels him to touch her but he does. He scoops her up into his arms and lifts her dead weight up until they are both upright, crouched on the floor.

At first she doesn’t move, and he is momentarily worried she’s taken a pill or is experiencing some kind of psychotic episode. But then he feels her arms go around his neck, and she clings tightly to him.

“Mulder…” she says, almost too quietly for him to hear. She appears to be outside of herself in grief, and he expected nothing less.

“No, Agent Scully, it’s me, it’s John Doggett,” he explains. But again, he hears her say it softly.

“Mulder.”

It’s in this moment that the true impact of the events that have transpired for her over the past several months really hit him. She is alone, completely alone. She has him, and Monica, and even AD Skinner, but none of that matters because without Mulder here, she may as well have no one.

And now her child is gone, too.

He can understand that loss perhaps more than anyone else in her life, and although the circumstances are very different, they have both lost their child, their son. He feels connected to her through this loss more than he’s ever felt connected to her before.

Right now, however, she seems to be needing Mulder, and Mulder isn’t here. She’s pretending he is, and if Doggett can help her pain go away even for a moment, he will play along. So he shuts up and just lets her hold him for a while. He can be a Mulder surrogate if that’s what she needs.

She rests her head on his shoulder and he can hear her sniffling softly. His hand involuntarily moves to her head and he touches her hair, giving comfort. He doesn’t really know what to say; nothing can make any of this right again. But he does know one thing, one important thing.

“You are not alone, Dana.”

She’s silent for a minute, then she speaks.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

He doesn’t know her very well, but one thing he’s learned about Dana Scully over the past year or so is that she doesn’t do vulnerability.

“You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing at a time like this,” he says. “This part is the hardest. But things do get better, I promise.”

She pulls back to look at him, really seeing him for the first time since he arrived. It’s as if she’d forgotten about his son, forgotten he’d gone through this pain himself. He can hardly blame her for that. She appears to not know what to say, so he grabs his opportunity.

“Let’s get out of this apartment, okay? Go talk?”

She nods, and he pulls her to her feet.

  
  
  
***

 

  
What does she do, exactly, after she’s forced to give her child away?

She cries, a lot. Then she cries some more.

She goes through all the stages of grief, and she does it alone. Again.

Denial is first. She wakes up every day and waits silently in bed for the cry she knows will never come. But she waits, sometimes for hours, hoping it was all a bad dream.

Then she rages. She hits things. She breaks dishes and furniture. She’s glad she has nobody around for this part. Mulder is gone, her mother is grieving in her own way. She’s staying away from work for awhile. Looking at anyone smiling may as well be a fist crushing her heart.

Bargaining comes next, mostly with God. She vacillates between wondering what she did to deserve such a fate, and cursing him for allowing it happen.

Then she falls into complete numbness, and wonders if anything matters anymore. These are her lowest moments, the ones in which she needs Mulder here the most. But he isn’t. And he doesn’t even know what she’s had to do; he doesn’t even know what cruel news is headed his way at some point.

Agent Doggett is here, however, and she lets him take her out of her apartment, into the cool night air. She allows him to attempt to make her feel like she can survive this.

They drive in silence for several minutes, and part of her wonders where he’s taking her and another part of her doesn’t care. She leans her head against the cold window and stares. Finally they arrive at the National Mall and he parks, coming around the car to open her door.

He can’t make her feel better. Nothing will do that but time, and she knows it. But he wants to try and she wants to let him, because she’s drowning. They walk quietly along the Mall for a few minutes, and finally Doggett speaks.

“I know it’s none of my business, and I’m only bringing it up in case you want to talk about it. But… this decision you’ve made, about your son… I think it’s brave, Dana.”

She doesn’t respond to this, because she doesn’t feel that way. All she feels is loss.

“When my son was killed, I didn’t get out of bed for weeks either. It destroyed everything; my marriage, my work. Even myself. I didn’t think I’d be able to go on.”

She looks over at him as they walk, but he averts his eyes, looking at the ground. It’s not a topic they ever discuss; she understands the significance of him broaching the topic at all.

"But then I realized that it was something I could do, should do: go on. Because he couldn’t.”

He stops and faces her, finally looking up. “You gave that gift to your son, Dana. You gave him the gift to be able to go on, even if it’s without you.”

Deep down, she knows he’s right. And she’s grateful for his understanding and compassion. She looks up at him and nods. “Thank you, John.”

He nods back. She has to ask.

“Do you…” she has trouble finding the words. “...still think about him? Often?”

Doggett looks right at her, and his bright blue eyes betray the truth. “Every damn day.”

She knew that would be his answer. But she still needed to hear it. She can’t imagine ever forgetting about William, and wonders which is actually worse, knowing your child’s fate or not knowing it?

“We never caught the guy who did it,” he continues. “I wonder all the time if I’d feel better if we had. I don’t know, though. I just don’t know.”

Scully pulls her coat closed, the night air colder than she’d anticipated.

“You told me you read every X File in our office, Agent Doggett,” she says. “I’m sure, then, you read about Mulder and his sister’s disappearance.”

“I did.”

She wonders how much Mulder would want her to reveal to Doggett, and then realizes how little it matters at the moment. They’re both in need of comfort.

“When he found out the truth, it did bring him comfort. Things changed for the better. Not entirely, but… he changed.” She looks over at him. “But what he learned didn’t necessarily mesh with his preconceived ideas about what happened to her. And I often wonder if learning the truth changed him in other ways.”

“Like what?” Doggett appears genuinely curious.

“Like his belief system itself,” she answers. “Mulder has always needed something to search for, some truth or answer to find. Something to believe in. And I think he always will. So when he learned what happened to his sister, his search shifted… elsewhere. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

She doesn’t want to discuss her fears about what William is, or was, or any of it. Not really. And she can’t help but wonder if Mulder was right about their son; that something could be terribly wrong with him, regardless of whatever it was that Jeffrey Spender injected into him. She’s seen things even Mulder hasn’t; she knows what William is capable of. And then there’s the matter of his miraculous conception in the first place. She isn’t sure she will ever rest until she knows for sure.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, even when you find your answers, there will always be more questions.”

Doggett nods. “I guess you’re right. But it doesn’t change the fact that I still want this one. Badly.”

The obsession part of it she understands all too well. They walk over to a bench and sit, staring out across the reflecting pool. She is starting to feel a little better, just the tiniest bit. She didn’t think it would be possible.

“Why did you bring me here, Agent Doggett?”

He shrugs. “No particular reason. Just wanted you to get some air, and some perspective. Easier to do that out here, all this history around us.”

A memory stirs, and she smiles, the first time she’s smiled in two weeks. Then her expression changes immediately to sadness again, to think of one more thing she’s lost.

“What is it?” Doggett asks, noticing.

“Mulder said something similar to me once,” she reveals. “On our first date, actually.”

She hasn’t really discussed her relationship with Mulder in any overt way with Doggett before. She isn’t sure why, there’s no reason to hide it from anyone now. But she’s so used to keeping it to herself it feels strange to acknowledge it out loud.

“He said there would be times when our work would force us into situations that put our relationship second,” she explains. “I knew it then, and I know it now, that this is just the nature of what we’ve taken on. But it’s hard not having him here.”

It’s been longer since she’s seen him than it was when he was abducted. Longer even than when he was dead. Over ten months now. It’s the longest she’s ever gone without seeing him, without talking to him, since she’s known him.

She thinks again, as she does often, of the email he sent her a while back. Her first thought when she read it was relief that he was alive, he was safe. Immediately following the relief was fear of what must be wrong if he was emailing at all. They’d agreed he wouldn’t contact her unless it was imperative, and he had important information for her. His safety was her primary concern and she’d made that very clear.

But Mulder’s words weren’t about any of that. He just plain missed her. It was the only reason he had reached out. He’d called her Dana, for God’s sake. The intensity of his loneliness had hit her like a ton of bricks.

Thinking about it now she wants to cry and rage at the injustice of this; of being kept apart because of unknown threats and shadows. He’s running from ghosts, from monsters that wish him harm.

It isn’t right. He’s Fox Mulder. _He_ should be chasing _them_.

“I really hope he can come home soon, Dana,” Doggett says. Right now she’s grateful to have such a friend, and marvels that this tiny wellspring of hope she feels again came from Agent Doggett. She smiles to herself, and leans against him, her head resting on his shoulder, gazing out upon the water.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hate how 1013 decided Scully didn't need to grieve the loss of William at all, which is ridiculous. So in my headcanon some time passed between "William" and "Release," and "Sunshine Days" takes place earlier in the season because THAT episode placement is just bizarre on all sorts of levels.
> 
> I also really love Scully and Doggett's friendship and think it's silly they never had an onscreen conversation about their shared loss of children.
> 
> For more on Scully giving William up for adoption, go [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619893/chapters/36479625)


	18. First Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d said before she wouldn’t put herself on the line for anyone but him. She’s tested that assertion on many other occasions, and this has definitely been the toughest test of them all, but she knows she told him the truth nine years ago. It will always stand. She wouldn’t be anywhere else but right here, by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place weeks after they’ve already been on the run. For their “first time back” read [Supplication,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182504) it’s pretty short.

 

 

 

**The Truth**

 

**(2002)**

 

_Crazymaking._

It’s what she tells him in the motel room, whichever one it is at this point. Number ten, number twenty. It’s been weeks, she can’t keep track anymore. It stopped feeling like it mattered several rooms ago.

“This is crazymaking, Mulder,” she says. “I’m bouncing off the walls. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

He takes her hands in his and kisses them. He does that a lot, especially lately. It’s as if he knows it turns her insides to mush. It always works. After he returned, they’d wordlessly agreed there was no point to hiding any of it anymore; how they felt about each other, how they craved one another. So many years of going without his overt romantic overtures has taken its toll and she’s living for them right now. There’s little else to live for, really.

“Let’s get out of here then, okay?” he winks. So they do.

They now sit in a seedy bar in Memphis, in a booth with burgundy vinyl seats. She’s hunched near the corner, her sensitivity heightened by Mulder’s own omnipresent paranoia, looking around the place, studying the patrons and the entrance, wondering if she will ever feel at ease again.

She hears a ruckus from the bar, and notices a couple bikers getting into it, which is mercifully broken up quickly by the bartender. The last thing they need is attention from anyone, let alone any authorities.

Mulder approaches from the bar, looking back over his shoulder, plunking down two beers on their table. She doesn’t look at the label; she doesn’t care. What’s the point? She takes a pull and then lays her head down across her arms. She’s exhausted and scared. The only thing keeping her from losing her mind is him, her port in the storm, her true north.

Without looking up, her hand reaches across the table to find his, and he squeezes back. She turns her head a bit, one eye on him, red hair dangling in her face.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Being out in public?” she asks him.

“Maybe not. But the good news is, the only people looking for us are the ones that already know us.”

“Are you sure about that?”

She isn’t sure what methods the government has employed to actually find them, if any. Part of her often wonders if anyone is even searching for them at all. The whole thing feels like some enormous game of chess, and she’s never really certain whose move it is. If ridding themselves of the both of them had been their goal, the FBI had won, and the two of them had lost.

She knows there’s no way the real story is out there, that Mulder had been wrongfully accused and hadn’t actually killed anyone. That there are real, honest-to-god alien replicants out in the world at large. Most likely the entire thing is being kept on the down low. But that doesn’t mean anyone can’t be an enemy; anyone could recognize them at any moment and the jig would be up.

“Let’s just talk about something else, okay?” Mulder says.

She sits up, back into the corner of the booth, and sips her beer.

“Like what?”

“Like how adorable you look right now,” he says.

“Adorable? Please.” She hates that word and he knows it.

“No, you do. I think I like Fugitive Scully even better than Casual Scully.” She notices he doesn’t bring up Pregnant Scully. That topic has become verboten.

She smiles, because as much as she hates the word he _is_ paying her a compliment.

“Thanks for sticking around, Scully. I know it’s crazymaking and everything, but at least we’re together.”

She’d said before she wouldn’t put herself on the line for anyone but him. She’s tested that assertion on many other occasions, and this has definitely been the toughest test of them all, but she knows she told him the truth nine years ago. It will always stand. She wouldn’t be anywhere else but right here, by his side.

A familiar Cher song comes onto the jukebox, and they both hear it through the din of the patrons and pool balls clacking. Their eyes meet and for a moment they are transported back to another time, one in which their longing and fear were one and the same. A time when they held back. She reaches out to take his hand again, grateful that in this, at least, they’ve won: the conquering of their own fears. In these moments she feels like they could conquer anything at all.

As they gaze into each other’s eyes for a bit, the moment is ruined by a surly biker type dragging his chair to the end of their table. He plunks himself down, eyeing them.

“I seen you two on the TV,” he says. The sneer on his face matches the smell of him, foul and inebriated. Scully releases Mulder’s hand, sitting back into the booth, and her hand surreptitiously goes to under the table to her weapon, concealed by her long caramel colored coat.

“I don’t think so,” Mulder says calmly. His eyes dart across the booth to Scully.

“Nah, I remember. I remember you for sure.” His stare lands on Scully, and he leers spectacularly. “I remember _you_ , Red.”

Scully’s mind races. What could this guy have seen on the news? The FBI obviously wouldn’t release details regarding the trumped up charges, illegal tribunal, and Mulder’s history with the Bureau. _If it looks bad, it’s bad for the FBI._ The government always had been a fan of a good old fashioned cover story. She wonders what it is. Maybe they’re jewel thieves or something. That would be cool.

“I need to use the restroom,” she says suddenly, eyeing Mulder meaningfully. She slides out of the booth and quickly heads back there, not looking behind her.

Closing the bathroom door, she ducks to check the two stalls, making sure she’s alone. She scopes out the room; only one tiny window above the sink, and unless she or Mulder suddenly transform into Eugene Tooms they certainly aren’t getting out this way.

After about thirty seconds, Mulder enters, closing and locking the door.

“What do we do?” she asks him evenly.

His eyes dart up to the window. “Well, neither of us are Eugene Tooms, so we aren’t getting out this way,” he comments idly, and in spite of the danger she smiles at their similar minds.

“You have your weapon on you?” he asks. She nods.

“Well, I think… we head for the entrance and get into the car. Then we wait, Scully.”

“For what?”

“For that guy to leave. We can’t risk him following us back to the motel.”

She shakes her head. “What if he sees us?”

He looks thoughtful. “How about a diversion? He’s pretty drunk. Maybe I can get him to hit me or something. Or I can hit him for coming on to you!”

He looks far too excited about this prospect and she rolls her eyes. “Maybe we can get out of here _without_ violence, Mulder.”

She unlocks the door and peers around it, hand on her gun.

“There’s an employee exit, Einstein,” she says. “See? Let’s keep your face pretty, please. It’s all I get to look at, day in, day out.”

“But I’ve never been in a bar fight,” he says with a pout.

“Another time.” She begins to sneak out towards the employee exit, when he abruptly puts his arm in front of her, slamming the door closed.

“Wait.”

He has a point to make, but the unintended consequence of stopping her that way is already taking effect, as if Pavlovian in nature, and her breathing has picked up, her chest heaving, her face flushing. _Goddamnit._ When he does that… it does things to her. She can’t help it. It’s neither the time or the place, but her body doesn’t know that.

He definitely picks up on her reaction, but the seriousness of their current predicament seems to outweigh his libido for the moment. “Focus, Scully. What if he called the police?”

As if on cue, they both hear the short beep of a siren outside and the flash of red and blue lights stream through the tiny window. She’s momentarily reminded of the time they were in their office after it had been destroyed, the lights from the cop cars in the street pouring down into the basement.

“Well, that’s our cue, then,” he says, moving his arm to open the door. She peeks down the hall toward the bar and sees nothing, so she quickly moves to the end, pushing through the kitchen door and making a beeline for the exit, Mulder right behind her. As luck would have it, the cook is preoccupied and doesn’t see them.

The police car is parked in the front of the bar, between it and their SUV, which is two rows back. The cop must have gone inside, because Scully doesn’t see any officers out front.

“Now’s our chance, let’s go,” Mulder says, sotto.

They duck and run, and the fifteen seconds it takes them to get to their car feels like an eternity. They fling open their doors; him the driver side, her the passenger, and the doors close and everything is quiet again.

They sit, their eyes trained on the front door of the bar.

“Do you think it’s possible they aren’t even here for us?” she asks him.

“Possible. Not likely,” he admits.

“But ‘not likely’ is your realm of choice, Mulder,” she smiles.

He squints his eyes, looking out the windshield. “I can’t tell if there’s another cop in the cruiser. But I’d imagine if they saw us they’d be swarming the car by now.”

“So we wait?”

He nods. “I think so. Any cars leaving right now would be watched, probably.”

So they wait. It’s a familiar scenario, they are in stakeout mode. Only this time, they are the ones in danger of being caught. For several minutes they sit, Scully’s thoughts consumed half with fear and anxiety, half with errant lustful longing borne of Mulder’s completely unintentional behavior in the bathroom. She feels about to explode from one emotion or the other. Shifting uncomfortably, she takes off her coat, throwing it into the back seat. Mulder follows her lead and removes his own, handing her his gun. She places them both in the glove compartment.

Eventually, the bar door opens and the very same biker that accosted them earlier is led out in handcuffs. He’s escorted into the car, and they all drive away and out of their lives. She can’t believe their luck.

“That’s it?” she breathes.

“Close one. Or not,” he corrects.

They sit side by side in the car, the fear and anxiety dissipating by the second, leaving more room for her urgent need for sex to shift into focus. She hadn’t previously noticed the heat pooling between her thighs but it’s quickly becoming unbearable.

“Mulder.”

“Hm?” He turns to face her and she leaps over the console, straddling him the best she can with the steering wheel poking into her backside. Her mouth assaults his, the familiar fervor of the heightened intensity of their situation taking over. She needs him right now more than she needs air; more than she needs another heartbeat. If there’s been one major plus to this whole being-on-the-run thing, it’s that their sex life has most certainly benefited. Nearly getting caught is… a turn on. She can’t deny that.

Her tongue glides forcefully across the roof of his mouth, groans and moans from them both bouncing around the interior of the car. Her hands comb through his hair and he reaches down to pull the lever, laying his seat back, giving them more space. Not much, but enough. She immediately realizes they’d be better off in the passenger seat or even the back row but her need for him is so demanding she doesn’t even care.

They exchange no more words, and she lifts her shirt up and over her head, tossing it behind him, thankful for their tinted windows. She goes in for more, her hands gripping his hair, pulling, biting, sucking. His nails scratch her bare back and dip into her jeans, grabbing tight handfuls of her flesh, probably making bruises. His mouth moves to her neck and she can feel him marking her skin with his teeth; marks that make her his, like an animal marking its territory. She responds in kind, biting his earlobe, sucking hard. He belongs to her, she belongs to him. This car is their world; the only location that is truly their own anymore.

Her tongue slips into his ear and he groans loudly, reacting to her touch and almost certainly to her uncontrollable panting. She doesn’t have any interest in removing his clothing, her need singular, so she leaves his shirt on and goes straight to his pants, pleased to find him already harder than she expected. She pulls them and his boxers down simultaneously just far enough to free his impressive erection, springing out at her with incontrovertible desire.

She starts to pull off her own pants, leaning over him awkwardly with her breasts in his face to take them off, getting one leg free. He seizes an opportunity and pulls the edge of her bra down just enough to free a pert pink nipple, taking it into his mouth and working it around like one of his beloved seed shells.

She hadn’t counted on this little distraction, and her pants are still only half off, but what he’s doing feels so fucking good she stops and lets him do it, her hands on the headrest behind him, bracing her body, eyes closed in ecstasy. He lifts his hand to her other breast, pulling the edge of her bra cup down on that side too, circling her nipple with his fingertip softly, and she is amazed that the barely-there feel of him touching her brings a new surge of heat to her center. The dual sensations of him touching her and the edge of her bra barely grazing her now impossibly rigid peaks is driving her absolutely crazy. She cries out and grasps the back of his head, pulling him in to her even closer.

She can feel his hardness underneath her, directly where she wants him, only separated by a thin layer of fabric. Her pants are still attached to one ankle, hanging off, but she feels so close already and just wants to feel him inside her so she foregoes the proper order of things. Pulling aside her underwear with one hand she wraps her other hand around his throbbing length and without preamble sinks instantly down onto him, as far as she can.

“ _Jesus_ -” he yelps, not expecting it, and she shuts him up with her own mouth, her fingers tracing his jawline as she kisses him hungrily, and she begins riding him mercilessly. Her half-exposed nipples drag across his chest back and forth, back and forth, over his cotton T shirt, creating burning sensations that go directly to her core.

He starts making sounds she’s never heard before, the culprit probably being the friction of the fabric of her panties rubbing along his length. A stream of whispered obscenities come out of his mouth and he puts his hands back on her ass, dipping his fingers inside her still-on panties, pulling her into him hard with each thrust. She opens her eyes to watch his face, his pleasure evident, and she smiles and presses her mouth to his once again, so happy to have him all to herself, so lucky to be with him in spite of everything.

She feels her orgasm approaching and worries he’s not quite there yet but luck is on their side again. She can hear him making the noises that mean he’s about to come, and she’s been holding off long enough, and soon they are both breaking apart together, their voices amplified in their vehicular cocoon.

She lays on his chest and he rubs her back, and she doesn’t want to ruin the upholstery so she stays where she is for the moment, sweat dripping down her face, her heart pounding loudly. His own sweat is presenting itself through his shirt and she breathes him in deeply. His familiar musky Mulder scent washes over her in waves, and she is deeply content.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he laughs after a minute. She shakes her head into his chest.

“I don’t know,” she admits honestly. “It’s this, I guess. Being on the run like this. I feel like any day we could get caught. Or even killed.” These thoughts cross her mind so often she hadn’t made this particular association before but as she utters it she knows it’s the truth. “I feel like every time could be our last.”

He holds her close and kisses the top of her head, stroking her hair gently. “I know what you mean.”

She knows he’s probably thinking about the end of the world, the date they both are now aware of, hanging in the air like a bad omen. She isn’t sure if she believes it, but she certainly doesn’t plan to let it ruin whatever is left of their lives.

She holds him tight and can feel his tension ebbing inside her, but she stays with him. She’s not ready to relinquish his warmth quite yet. His fingers massage her scalp and it feels so wonderful she closes her eyes. He holds her hair out to the sides.

“He called you Red.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your hair,” he explains. “It pains me to say this, Scully, but I think we need to do something about it.”

She sighs, knowing he’s right. She figured it might come to this at some point, given the circumstances. It will just be one more piece of her she will lose; one more part of herself she has to leave behind.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

Suddenly she’s exhausted again, and doesn’t want to move. All she wants to do is lay here and be still, his hands caressing her back, feeling him still inside her. He seems to feel the same and sighs loudly, closing his eyes.

 

***

 

They enter their motel room, and Mulder throws the key onto the table. He watches Scully shrug her clothing off piece by piece as she heads to the bathroom, the CVS bag in her hand. She reaches in and tosses him his bag of sunflower seeds with a tiny smirk as she rounds the corner.

He’s fully aware of what she’s given up to be with him over the past few weeks. Hell, over the past nine years. In the grand scheme of things dying her hair shouldn’t be a big deal. But it is, at least to him. It feels like a representation of something else he’s taking from her: part of her very identity.

He sets the seeds on the table as he hears her rustling around in the bathroom. He follows her in to find her sitting on the toilet seat reading the box of hair coloring, naked except for her panties.

“Can I do it?” he asks. She stands and wordlessly hands him the latex gloves and the box of dye, and turns around, her back to him.

He loves her hair. He always has. It somehow seems emblematic of who she is, and always will be; unique, fierce, full of life. He knows none of that will actually go away with her hair color but having to do this still feels bittersweet.

He reaches out and touches it softly, scalp to tip, feeling it between his fingers. She’d grown it out long for him during the months they’d been apart, and she’d told him so shortly after they started this new life together. His hands thread into her hair possessively, lifting it up to reveal her perfect neck. He leans down to kiss her shoulder, wrapping one arm around her front as he moves to kiss her cheek. Her eyes close and she places her hands over his arm, letting him do this his way.

He holds her for a minute, his chin resting on her head. Breathing deeply he commits her scent to his memory, a memory he always has but strengthening it right now feels important. He suddenly has an idea, something he needs to do before he begins.

“I need scissors,” he says.

“I don’t need a haircut, Mulder.”

“I know. But do you have any?”

She thinks for a second. “Yeah, but they’re nail scissors. In my makeup bag.” She gestures to the small bag on the counter and he goes over to search. He pulls the tiny pair of scissors out triumphantly, an eyebrow raised. She crosses her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow right back at him.

“Really?”

“Let me do this, Scully,” he says earnestly. “It’s important to me.”

He isn’t a particularly sentimental type and he suspects she knows it. But occasionally it strikes him, and he feels an enormous urge to keep a piece of her red hair, a piece of her. He can look at it and remember the past, and also look forward to the future. At least he can for as long as this present goes on.

She tilts her head and her eyes soften in acquiescence. She smiles as she turns around, pulling the bulk of her gorgeous hair aside and leaving the part closest to her neck exposed for his taking. He finds a small section and clips it.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he teases. She turns around and pulls him in by his neck to kiss him softly.

“You can be so _adorable_ sometimes,” she says pointedly.

“Who, me?” He grins and sets the lock of hair on the counter.

“You should tie that or it’ll fall apart,” she tells him, and goes into her bag again for a tiny sewing kit. She cuts a small piece of black thread and he picks the hair back up, holding it out for her as she ties it up and sets it back down.

“Well,” she sighs. “Let’s do this.”

He nods as he puts on the gloves, and then squirts some of the deep brown cream into his hand.

“I just… put it on?” he asks, suddenly aware he’s never done this before. Neither has she, probably.

“Yeah, I guess. Just be sure to cover it all.”

He goes to work, covering every strand, and as he watches the dark color conceal the bright red he feels sadness with every passing second. He rubs it into her hair gently, all over, until every part is completely different. He steps back, indicating he’s finished, and she looks closely into the mirror. She takes a washcloth and dabs bits of coloring off her hairline to prevent staining. Then she turns around and they wait, again.

“How long do we wait? he asks.

She picks up the box. “Thirty minutes.”

“Perfect. Seinfeld? Friends? Or SpongeBob?”

She laughs. “I don’t want to watch TV. I think I’ll take a bath while I wait. I’m naked anyway.”

“That you are,” he agrees, eyeing her suggestively.

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. It would be entirely too messy. Last thing we need is the motel manager on our ass for damages.”

He chuckles. “Fine, you win. You take your bath. I’ll go watch SpongeBob by myself.”

She closes the door and he takes off all of his clothes, down to his T shirt and boxers. He clicks on the TV, surfing through the channels, finding CNN. He watches for a few minutes, curious. But nothing about them or their situation surfaces. He’s not surprised, but realizes he was secretly hoping it would. He’s been riding the line between his desire for safety and his delusions of grandeur for weeks, and even though their safety and discretion is his primary concern, the truth is important to him as well. He’d be thrilled if it got out, somehow.

After thirty minutes of CNN he’s about to pass out from boredom but then he hears the shower turn on, and knows Scully is rinsing out the excess dye. He hears the water turn off and her hair dryer turn on, and he mutes the television, sitting back into his pillow, awaiting yet another new version of her he gets to meet.

 _Gets to meet,_ he repeats to himself. He can’t view this as a bad thing, a negative thing. She hasn’t changed her appearance to stay hidden from dangerous pursuers. She’s done it for him, he tells himself, and that alone means so much.

After a few minutes the door opens and out she comes in her robe, her dark hair framing her face like it had always been there.

“Well?” she asks.

She would look fucking amazing in a paper sack, but rather than say that, which he senses would be unwise, he tells her a simpler truth.

“You’re you, Scully.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. Her blue eyes still shine out at him, her face perfection, her expression the same. Something feels new but nothing feels strange.

“Come here.”

She does, crawling across the bed over to him, and he reaches out to touch her hair, pinching it between his fingers. She sits on his lap, grinning, and shrugs her robe off, which falls to the floor. As he gazes upon her freshly bathed naked body, glowing under the dim lamplight of this shitty motel room, he shakes his head in wonderment.

“You were right, you know,” he says. “What you said earlier about this situation being crazymaking.”

“Oh yeah?” she smiles.

“Yeah. But only because you drive me crazy.”

She rolls her eyes, the way she always does, and he smiles, knowing nothing has really changed at all. He pulls her towards him and kisses this new Scully, this Brunette Scully, that he loves even more than the version he knew thirty minutes ago. But not because of her hair, just because that’s the way this works for him; always loving her more and more with every passing moment.

His hands touch her hair softly, and she leans in to draw him in, the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. She brushes his lips with soft kisses, her eyes closed, smiling each time she pulls away.

“What’s that smile about?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Just you, Mulder,” she grins. “It’s just about you.”

She kisses him again, sucking on his bottom lip in a way that makes him even crazier. He sits up straight, his hands snaked around her back, pulling her into him tightly. She wraps her legs around him and he is suddenly wild with desire to make love to this new Scully right the fuck now, and he knows exactly how he wants to do it.

He turns, flinging his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, holding her, walking over to the wall next to the door. To keep herself from falling, Scully throws her arms around his neck and clings to him even tighter.

He reaches the wall and pushes her into it, kissing her aggressively, his tongue thrusting into her mouth with heated intensity. The wall and her own legs wrapped around his middle are now propping her up, so he lets go and plants his arms on either side of her shoulders. He pulls away, breaking their kiss with a loud sucking noise.

“Did you think I didn’t see what happened in that bar bathroom earlier, Scully?” he whispers, as he watches her chest heaving with breathless arousal. “Do you think I don’t know why you jumped on me in the car?”

She narrows her eyes at him, smiling. “Of course you knew, Mulder.” Her nails dig into his shoulder blades as she leans in and says the phrase she knows drives him crazy. “And you’re always right.”

He moves one hand down to slide a finger along her folds, finding her beyond ready for him. Smiling, he releases his impatient dick from its cotton prison and bends his knees just so, until he’s lined up where he needs to be.

“You ready, Scully?”

She looks right at him. “Bring it on.”

He drives up into her, hard, and she cries out. Her walls clench in on him, and he’s amazed at how tight she feels. He bends his knees, moving in and out of her, unprepared for what a workout this would be. All Scully can do is hang on for the ride. He bends again and again, thrusting up inside her with ferocity, her breasts bouncing in his face. He’s wearing himself out but it’s an exquisite exhaustion.

“You getting tired, there?” she says coyly. “You can put me down if you need to.”

He tilts his head and squints at her, knowing she’s challenging him. He decides there’s no way in hell he’s setting her down until they’ve both seen stars.

“ _Not_ … at… _all_ ,” he replies, each word punctuated with a thrust.

She hangs on tightly and he can tell she’s trying her hardest to be unaffected, nonchalant about everything. They’re playing a game and she wants to win. Well, he wants to win too.

He holds her intense gaze and continues thrusting, his legs getting weaker by the second. Her eyes close and she smiles, making humming sounds that can only mean _this is all very nice but I don’t plan on coming anytime soon._

He feels a mixture of sensations, the primary one being exhaustion, but soon is it overtaken by the inevitability of what he can sense will be an intense orgasm. Desperate, he looks her right in the eye as he moves a finger underneath her, finding the entrance he rarely pays much attention to, and inserts his finger as far as he can.

“Jesus _fuck_ , you _fuck_ !” she yelps as her eyes bulge and she squeezes his neck. “Oh my _god_!”

His eyes narrow and he can feel her walls clenching around him in response, her heels digging into his back. _She likes it,_ he thinks, and knows his expression is smug but he doesn’t care because now she’s got a new look in her eyes that means his action was not only welcomed but extremely effective.

 _And not a moment too soon._ He screams out her name and shudders into her just as she jerks her legs tight around him and reaches her own climax. He drops to the floor, sliding down the wall, all his strength gone, his adrenaline boost finally ebbing away.

He lays back down onto the floor, sprawled out, pulling her body on top of him. They breathe heavily for a minute then she laughs.

“You know, I'd appreciate a warning next time.”

“No… I really don’t think you would,” he argues, smiling. They chuckle a bit. “You left me no choice, Scully.”

She lifts her head up to look at him, her dark hair framing her face. He’d almost forgotten the change; he’d been so focused on her body for obvious reasons. He reaches out to touch it again.

“I could get used to this look,” he says.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “For now, at least.”

She leans down to kiss him. “What are we going to do about your look, then?”

He shrugs, and with a grin: “I’ve always wanted to try to grow a beard.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Mulder and Scully on the run and for further reading on the events of “The Truth,” you can check out [these](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34401366) [chapters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619893/chapters/36497892).


	19. First Housewarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, it’s our first house. We should christen it.”
> 
> He’s confused. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”
> 
> She shakes her head and pulls his head up to look at him. “No, I mean… christen it. Every room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To read how they found their house, go [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619893/chapters/36527130)

**(April 2003)**

 

They walk up the steps to their new house, and Mulder is amazed at how calm everything feels. He’s still a wanted fugitive, but Scully isn’t, and here they are, about to walk into the place they’ll call home for the foreseeable future. Together.

From the outside it all looks great; Scully’s mother had helped them find the place, and its remote location and unremarkable appearance were both huge selling points. But he hasn’t yet seen the inside. He hasn’t been able to, for safety reasons. But he knows if it’s good enough for Scully it will be good enough for him.

He glances at the porch swing and the weathered paint job of the outside of the house, thinking both could use a coat. He doesn’t really know how to do any of that stuff but he’s well aware he’s going to have a lot of down time on his hands. Maybe he could learn some new skills; impress her a bit. He’s looking forward to it.

She takes his hand and leads him towards the doorway but he stops.

“Wait, I have to carry you over the threshold, don’t I?” he grins at her.

She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “That’s only for married couples.”

He shrugs. “It’s not my fault you said no.”

He did ask, not too long ago. She hadn’t really given him a reason for declining but she indicated it might be something she’d be open to down the road. Their timing hasn’t always been the greatest. He doesn’t plan to give up.

“Right, so we’re not married,” she says.

“Okay. But I still think I should carry you. You know, for luck.”

“You and I are rarely lucky, Mulder.”

"Exactly. We need all the help we can get.”

She rolls her eyes and holds her arms outstretched toward him. Grinning, he scoops her up and she drapes her arms around his neck, and as he begins to walk toward the screen door she plants a quick kiss on his cheek. He kicks the screen door open and carries her inside.

He looks around the living room, feeling her eyes on him, waiting for his approval. He sets her down next to him.

“Wow, Scully.”

It’s everything he would have asked for. It even feels like a home already. The furnishings are perfect, the layout is open and airy, and there’s even a scent in the air that smells familiar and comfortable. Leather and wood.

She takes his hand and leans into him, her head against his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I think… it’s perfect,” he says with one hundred percent honesty. “Scully. It’s like you somehow transformed me into a house, and then bought that house for us to live in.”

“I thought it felt like you,” she says happily. “It was my first thought when I walked inside, too.”

“I know it’s too late now,” he says, fully aware this place has been bought and paid for, “but are you sure about this, Scully? Don’t you want a house that feels more like… you?”

She wraps her arms around him and shakes her head, and he hears her next utterance mumbled into the deep navy sweater he’s wearing. “If it feels like you, it’s home to me, Mulder.”

He returns her hug and then she pulls away from him and looks up into his eyes, smiling at him with such feeling, the enormity of such a moment for them apparent.

He takes her chin in his hand delicately and leans down to kiss her, their first kiss in their first home. His plan was to keep the kiss short and sweet but he falls victim to it rather quickly, as he feels her tongue softly requesting entrance. Soon his hands are combing through her dark brown hair and their mouths are having a conversation all their own, one they’ve perfected over the past several months.

She suddenly leaps up into his arms and he catches her, laughing, slapping her behind as he walks over to the couch.

“We haven’t even seen the whole house yet,” he points out, but as the words leave his lips he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about such things at the moment. They fall onto the couch, him on top, and he kisses her neck and starts to pull her shirt up when she stops him with both hands.

“Wait, Mulder, you’re right.”

He pushes up on his arms a bit to look at her. “No, I’m not.”

“We should take the tour first,” she decides.

“Fuck the tour, Scully,” he says and leans into kiss her neck again.

“No, let's make this fun.”

His voice is muffled as he continues his trail of kisses along her skin. “I’m listening.”

“Well, it’s our first house. We should christen it.”

He’s confused. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

She shakes her head and pulls his head up to look at him. “No, I mean… _christen_ it. Every room.”

“I love the way your mind works, Scully,” he grins as he gets up off the couch and pulls her to her feet with both hands. He picks her up again, throwing her tiny body over his shoulder, laughing. “Where to, first?”

“By the stairs,” she says as she dangles behind his back. He carries her over to a door next to the stairs and opens it. It’s a smallish room with a large mahogany desk near the back.

“Nice desk,” he comments. “Looks a bit like my old one.”

“Can you put me down, please?” she asks, and he sits her on the desk facing him.

“Okay, tour guide. What room is this?”

“This... is your office.”

“My office?” he asks. He kisses her face as he speaks. Her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. “You mean… the office where I’ll be doing all the work I’m bringing home from my nonexistent job to advance my ruined career?”

He means it as a joke, but he can’t keep the dissatisfaction from entering his voice. Losing the X Files for good is a huge blow, not to mention his complete lack of prospects in the face of his fugitive status.

“Mulder,” she says simply. As usual, everything she wants to communicate is wrapped up into the single word. She looks at him adoringly and he genuinely feels like she means it when she tells him with her eyes he isn’t a huge disappointment to her.

“I want this to be your space. You can do whatever you want with it. I know you’re going to be stuck here all the time by yourself and I want you to have a place that’s entirely yours.”

It’s moments like these he’s grateful he found someone who understands him so completely. He goes in for a real kiss and she pulls him into her tightly, her hands behind his head, her legs squeezing his hips. He pulls back for a moment and looks at her.

“Remember when we did this in _our_ office?”

She smiles. “I do. All five times.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Five? I remember four.”

“Well, I guess I trust your memory more than mine.” She dangles her arms around his neck.

“Technically, I suppose you’re right. It’s more, if you count all the other stuff.”

”Other stuff, Mulder?” she smirks.

“Yeah. Like you on the desk.”

The memory of the first time he’d ever gone down on her is burned into his brain, like every memory he has of her. He leans in again and kisses her gently, a tiny curve at the edge of his mouth arching up to the ceiling.

“What do you say we repeat history, Scully?” he growls. Before waiting for the answer he already knows, he grips her by the thighs and pulls her bottom forward, and she falls backwards onto the desk, giggling. He unbuttons her jeans and pulls them off her legs, but leaves her underwear on for now. Throwing both her legs over his shoulders he kneels down and rubs her thighs, feeling them quaking in anticipation. It suddenly occurs to him he doesn’t do this enough. Does he? She probably thinks so. For him, it’s never enough.

He gently teases her through the silky fabric with the tip of his tongue. She jerks a bit in response, moaning softly, and her noises turn him on so much he decides to get this show on the road. Pulling aside her panties he goes deeper, faster, flicking his tongue around, tasting her.

The morning light is streaming through the windows and he can hear birds singing outside, singing along with Scully’s moans of pleasure, discordant but beautiful. They are here in _their_ house, the one in which they’ll make a home together full of memories just like this. It’s like they are two new people making a fresh start, and for a minute he forgets he’s still a wanted fugitive and they’ve both lost their jobs and Scully had to give up everything she ever knew for him. Right here, right now, he can show her his gratitude for her loyalty, and for her love.

His tongue slides up and down her slickness, tasting her thoroughly, and she squirms around beneath him. Her moans only add to his own arousal, and although he knows she would most likely prove him wrong he refuses to believe she can possibly be enjoying this more than he does. He finds her sensitive bud and nibbles on it gently at first, then a bit harder until he’s sucking on it with ardor.

It’s only been a minute and he can feel her thrashing and bucking on the desk, her cries now most certainly of impending release. Sometimes he wishes she wasn’t so receptive to this; it never lasts as long as he’d like. But there’s always next time, he tells himself. There will always be a next time.

Knowing how close she is, he reluctantly withdraws his tongue and replaces it with two fingers, and they slip in with such ease from her desire he feels himself twitching and hardening.

As he twists and twirls his fingers inside her she slaps the desk then grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling hard as she comes, screaming out his name at the top of her lungs because she can. Because they live in the middle of nowhere now and no one will hear them. _Ah, Scully. She really thought of everything._

He lets go of her panties, allowing them to snap back into place and she tugs at his shoulders to come up to her, so she can kiss him and wrap her arms around him.

“I’d say you could have a pretty lucrative career doing that, if I were inclined to share you,” she teases. “Which I am not,” she clarifies, her eyes wide, as if it were necessary.

“I appreciate the compliment but I prefer the volunteer work,” he grins as he kisses her again. He lifts her up again, folding her legs around his waist, and starts to exit the office, her jeans left behind, discarded on the floor of the office.

“Okay tour guide, where to next?”

“Are you going to carry me everywhere? I can walk, you know.”

“I don’t think you _can_ , Scully.”

She nips at his shoulder and laughs, admitting defeat. His oral ministrations typically render her legs to gelatin and this time was probably no exception. “Fine. Why don’t we go check out the kitchen?”

“Now you’re talking.”

He carries her into the kitchen and sets her down. He walks around the table and looks at the appliances. Everything looks great, not that he’d expect otherwise from Scully, and he crosses his arms and faces her.

“It’s… a kitchen.”  

She saunters up to him slowly with a gleam in her eye.

“A good kitchen,” she corrects.

Her hands go to his belt and she begins to unbuckle it, looking up at him with the eyes that could make him come instantly if he weren’t determined to see this little game all the way through. Before he can say anything else her hand is in his pants, and he’s already at attention, feeling her fingers wrap around him. She starts to stroke him gently.

“It’s... a good kitchen,” he repeats, and she laughs.

“It’s a pretty _big_ kitchen, wouldn’t you say?” she teases.

“Yeah. It’s… pretty big.”

As she strokes him she pulls his sweater up and over his head, then his T shirt. She looks at his naked chest, biting her lip a bit and he shudders. She trails her other hand along his stomach and leans in to kiss his chest, gently licking his nipple, to which he reacts with surprise. It’s not an area she usually pays too much attention to but he likes it. As she licks and teases him, her hand moves down his length to cup his balls, squeezing gently, and he groans.

Her other hand slides down the back of his jeans to squeeze one of his butt cheeks and she grins at him slyly. She begins to kneel, pulling his jeans down, moving to take him into her mouth.

He rolls his head back and his eyes close. “Scuh-leeeeeee…” her name escapes his lips as she starts to work her magic, and he makes an active effort to open his eyes so he can look around the kitchen, committing yet another moment to his eidetic memory. Thinking about this while eating his corn flakes in the morning will help him get through a long, lonely day without her.

When she starts bobbing up and down in earnest he decides to stop her, painfully aware if she carries on much further this little game will come to an end here in the kitchen and he hasn’t even seen the upstairs.

“Okay, you need to stop,” he says.

She releases him in understanding and removes his pants completely, leaving on his boxers, then stands up slowly.

“I think we can manage one more stop on the tour, wouldn’t you say?” she asks.

He nods and she takes his hand, leading him upstairs. She opens the door to the first room on the left and they go inside.

It’s a large room with a bed and a dresser, and its own bathroom attached. He’s struck to the core by its meaning, its implications. This is undoubtedly _their_ bedroom. Both of theirs, together. He thinks of all those nights he spent alone since he met her: on his own couch year after year. In a sleeping bag in an underground bunker. Even in a fucking coffin.

After they began their romantic relationship, even then he wondered every night where he’d be sleeping. Now, he doesn’t have to wonder anymore. She’d said earlier they weren’t lucky, but right now he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

He turns to her and takes both her hands in his. “Ours?” he asks simply.

She nods. “Ours.”

He pulls her body into his, close, and she rises up on her toes to close in every gap between them, getting her body as flush against his as possible. They are kissing in their bedroom, in their house, where they are going to live together. Everything happened so fast regardless of how long it took them to arrive here. He’s still having trouble believing it’s real.

The mattress appears brand new but there aren’t any sheets on it yet.

“This just get delivered?” he asks.

She nods. “I should have made the bed before I brought you home,” she says. His heart flutters at the word ‘home.’ “I guess I didn’t think that one through.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” he smiles. Pulling her shirt up over her head, he walks her backwards to the bed and she pulls him down on top of her. He can feel his hardness against her softness and cannot wait to christen this room.

Dark brown hair is splayed all around her face and he’s used to that particular change by now, but he focuses on her eyes, her face; this face he loves so much. The sunlight is bright in here and he likes it; he cranes his neck up to look at an unusual source of light; there is a decently sized skylight in the ceiling above them.

“The skylight… it’s nice.”

She holds his face between her hands and looks at him tenderly. “I think that’s what sold it, honestly.”

“Really? Why?”

“I knew you’d like it. At night…” she trails off a bit and looks upwards, out the window. “At night you can look at the stars. You can still look, Mulder, and search… and wonder. With or without the FBI.”

He’s touched by her words; that after everything they’ve gone through, she knows the search is still important to him. The truth is still his goal. This house, their home, will be his sanctuary, and this window on the ceiling of their bedroom will allow him to keep his eyes on the sky, quite literally.

“I love you,” he says, because he can’t think of any other words that can compare to what she just said.

“I love you,” she echoes, and as they kiss underneath the skylight he feels like he’s exactly where he wants to be; their home beneath him, the universe above, and wrapped in Scully’s arms directly in between.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

She hasn’t felt this happy since the night they stood in her Georgetown apartment and held their child between them. She often recalls that moment in her mind, and although she knows it’s folly to think of the happiness she will never get back, she can’t help it. She will always reach for the happy. They’ve had too much sadness in their lives.

As she looks into his eyes now, though, things finally feel like they are falling into place for them again. She hasn’t had the chance to experience something normal with him and she’s finally found it, right here.

His body hovers over hers, and they lay on their bed together. It’s the first bed that’s _theirs_ , and it makes her emotional to think about all the newness they will get to experience in this house. Together. Grounded.

Home.

He’s still technically on the run, but as long as he’s here with her, he’s home, and so is she.

“Do you like the house, then?” she asks.

“I do, very much.” He gently sweeps her hair across her forehead and kisses her eyelids.

She is surprised by his slow tenderness, especially considering their heightened states of arousal. What began as a fun little game has become an extremely poignant moment for them both and she knows he feels it, too.

He uses his arms to keep from crushing her but she enjoys his weight, his heat, and pulls him down into her to feel every bit of it. She hooks her leg around his, rubbing it up and down along his calf. Their mouths meet again and their tongues bask in the glory of each other, giving and taking, and they live in this kiss for several minutes. It feels sweet and innocent, almost juvenile to be lying here with him like this, just making out on the bed in their underwear.

His face is buried in her neck as he kisses and sucks gently. They kiss in this way for so long she loses track of time; only sensing the heat and scent of him, the roughness of his chin on hers and the bare mattress against her back. She wraps her arms around him, locking him in place. She feels a powerful compulsion to keep him as close to her as possible, as if she alone can keep his restless mind anchored to her here and now, in this place they can finally call their own.

He eventually reaches down to touch her inside her panties, her wetness his cue to remove his underwear. He slides them off, and she pulls her own down as well, looking at him expectantly, this marathon foreplay session finally winding down into the main event.

He sits back on his haunches and gazes at her, and his eyes are dark with desire. It’s so bright in this room, maybe brighter than anywhere they’ve ever made love before, and he’s looking at her body anew. With his finger he traces the strap of her white bra, down to the cup, and gently drags it across the tops of her breasts, making her shudder, gooseflesh rising on her skin.

He grasps her shins in both hands and slowly bends her knees back, all the way, the tops of her thighs resting on her chest. She feels completely exposed to him, and although her mind tells her she should feel a bit self conscious due to her position and the brightness of the room, she doesn’t. He looks into her eyes in wonder and she trusts him entirely, the way she always has.

He moves into position and she can feel his tip prodding her entrance and she waits in eager anticipation.

"I want you to watch, Scully,” he says huskily, and it might be the hottest fucking thing he’s ever said to her. In all the times they’ve done this, not once has she made the effort to actually watch as he enters her. She nods, and shifts up a bit onto her elbows, and watches as he pushes his entire length into her slowly, inch by inch, all the way to the hilt. There’s something visceral about seeing it happen; something primal, biological, and her eyes widen and she exhales slowly. As her mind races to comprehend why it turns her on so much he withdraws himself almost completely and pushes into her again.

 _Oh, god…_ she inhales sharply and continues to watch his hardness slide into her softness over and over, back and forth, and she cannot look away from the sight. She’s vaguely aware that Mulder is watching her face intently, and it’s a seemingly endless cycle of arousal as whatever he sees in her face spurs him to go faster, which in turn manifests back upon her face.

She feels it every day more and more but even now as her orgasm builds she can physically feel her love for him grow.

“M-more,” the word escapes her mouth, and she isn’t even sure what she wants more of. More of everything, of all of it, always more Mulder.

He’s pumping into her with every ounce of his energy already, but as usual his aim is to please her however he can so he starts to pump harder, grunting and sweating and she knows she’s about to explode.

She finally tears her eyes from their lovemaking and finds his, looking at her and smiling, and she grabs the sides of his face, screaming out her release, pulling him down so his heavy body is folding her into a pretzel.

“I’m so close, Scully,” he whispers after a few seconds, and she lets go of his head, pushing him back by the chest as he sits back away from her. He looks confused for a moment but she turns over onto all fours, looking back at him over her shoulder. He grins and moves behind her on his knees, and leans down to kiss her lower back. She knows how much he loves this position.

He holds the front of her thigh with one hand and dips his other index finger inside her, finding her still incredibly wet.  She then feels him enter her again, and as he moves inside her rhythmically, the front of his thighs slap the back of hers. He’s hitting a new spot now and her eyes bulge as she gasps loudly, and she wonders if he can make her come a third time in the space of twenty minutes. She hadn’t intended on letting him know this was a possibility but she can’t deny his powers of perception. Fox Mulder would never back down from a challenge.

“Think you can come again for me, Scully?” he growls into her ear. She can hear him smiling, and knows now that he will make it happen, come hell or high water. His determination to see something through can always be counted upon.

He pushes into her fiercely, over and over, and she takes advantage of their completely isolated state out here and yells his name out, egging him on. He wasn’t lying about being close, however, because he starts to whisper into her ear “ _come for me, Scully, come for me...”_ with an edge of desperation. His voice makes her so turned on that she can feel herself approaching the edge.

His hands reach underneath her, cupping her breasts, and right as he gives her nipple a decidedly hard pinch she screams out again.

“Oh, god… _Mulder_!”

She breaks apart for the third time just as she feels him emptying inside her, and as she falls forward a bit onto her forearms, he falls over onto her back, his cheek buried in her dark brown hair. Her exhaustion is so profound she feels like melting into their brand new mattress like a pool of jelly.

He moves her hair aside and kisses her shoulders and back, every once in a while darting his tongue out to lick her skin, and she knows she must be sweaty as hell. It’s something he does after particularly raucous sex; tasting her, basking in her afterglow.

She turns her head to the side and sighs, enjoying his attentions. He doesn’t move yet; months and months of doing little else but fucking has taught them both everything they need to know about each other’s wants and desires, and he knows she loves this part; the part where they stay together, connected in the calm post-coital quiet as long as possible.

“I love you,” she says again, quietly. “I love us.”

He leans down to kiss her again. “Me too.”

He lays down on top of her, his warmth surrounding her body, and she feels a profound sense of contentment come over her. They are finally, _finally_ home.

 


	20. First Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s taken a long time but she’s finally getting used to Mulder As Lover taking precedence over Mulder As Partner or Mulder As Friend. All of it still applies, she simply no longer finds any part strange or new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mulder calling Scully “honey” is canon. It’s in the script for MSIII. It deserves an origin story.

 

 

**(2003)**

 

For the first few weeks they fall comfortably into the bliss of domesticity; or at least, their brand of it. The usual weekday routine involves Scully getting ready for work while Mulder makes them coffee and breakfast. They eat together in their unremarkable kitchen, then Mulder kisses her at their unremarkable front door and waves goodbye from their unremarkable porch.

She doesn’t miss the FBI at all, and she and Mulder rarely talk about it, other than when they revisit old cases occasionally in conversations. She looks back on their work fondly but she’s put it in her past, and that’s where she prefers it.

She’s only just started her residency but her ass is beat. It feels good to have an occupation again, one that challenges and intrigues her, especially after so many months treading water. She’s loving every moment of it, except the part where Mulder is stuck at home all day by himself.

She knows he misses her, and she misses him too. But she’s also keenly aware of the fact that she has the opportunity to rebuild her life, and he does not. He’s stuck in a limbo he cannot work his way out of.

Fortunately, he seems fine with the solitude, at least for now. It makes it easier for her to get through her long, busy days at the hospital. He putters around their house, fixing things, sprucing things up. He has _Twilight Zone_ marathons. He moves around furniture, hangs up curtains. She lets him pick whatever he wants, whatever makes him comfortable. She’d always planned to let him make this house a home he’d like to be in, and she tells herself it’s because he’s the one surrounded by it 24/7, but the truth is she wants him to like living here; she wants him to want to stay.

She wants this to be their forever.

She idly twirls a long strand of red hair as she drives, and she’s excited for him to see it. She’s been meaning to get her hair colored since they moved in, but work has been so busy she’s had to put it off. Unfortunately, it’s made her much later than usual. She wants to surprise him so she hasn’t been very communicative about her tardiness, and the sheer volume of texts he’s sent aren’t the best sign.

She walks up the stairs to the front porch with a bag of takeout, noticing a the porch swing looks freshly painted. She smiles, happy to see he’s been keeping himself busy.

“Mulder?” she calls into the house, but there’s no response. For a moment she panics; could this be the day the FBI decided to ignore their promises to leave her alone and raid their house, searching for him? They’d prepared for such scenarios carefully, and she picked this particular house because it was conducive to hiding him whenever necessary. But she hears the shower turn on upstairs and heaves a sigh of relief.

She isn’t sure how serious the FBI is about finding Mulder, not really. Part of her wonders if his paranoia has given him a false sense of importance in their eyes. She knows they could find him if they really, truly wanted to. The more time that goes by without incident the less she believes they are actively after him at all, but she never lets him in on these thoughts. Lulling them into a false sense of security could be their plan, still. She would hate for something terrible to happen to him simply because she had doubts. That’s happened too many times in the past.

Also, allowing him to think for a minute he’s hunkering down in their house alone for nothing isn’t something she’s prepared to be responsible for. There are too many uncertainties in their future already. She isn’t going to be the cause of another one. She can only hope Skinner will do his best to keep the dogs away from their door, and trust in him has kept both of them relatively calm.

A few minutes go by as she removes her coat and shoes and unpacks the food. She notices he’s set the table for them, complete with two candlesticks in the center. She finds the lighter and is just about to light them when she feels him come up close behind her, wrapping his arms around her and bringing his mouth next to her ear.

“What’s up, Doc?”

"Hi."

He touches her red hair softly. “I was wondering when you’d change it up again.”

“You like?”

“I like,” he says.

As much as he’d frequently insist otherwise, she knows he prefers her hair this way, and she does too. It’s just one more step towards feeling like herself again. Everything else feels so different, and not in a bad way, but she’s grateful for any modicum of familiarity.

“Good day at work?” he asks her.

She smiles, knowing he’s doing his domestic diligence by asking, but he’s rock hard and doing nothing to dispel that, as he moves his hands to hold her close to him by her hips.

“Yes, actually, it was.”

“Know what I did today?”

She turns around to face him. He’s wearing sweatpants and no shirt. Her eyes narrow. “Hmm. Threw pencils into the ceiling?”

“Ha, ha. Well, besides that.”

“I saw the porch swing, looks great. How’d you manage that? I thought the paint was all gone.”

“I work in mysterious ways,” is all he offers. “Know what else I did?”

“What?”

“I thought about you, a lot.”

She smiles and puts her hands on his shoulders. “Oh yeah? What kinds of things did you think about?”

“Quite a few things, actually. All of them involved you being naked.”

“I’m all ears, Mulder.”

“Definitely involved your ears,” he says as he leans in to nibble an earlobe. She closes her eyes and smiles, enjoying his attentions. It’s taken a long time but she’s finally getting used to Mulder As Lover taking precedence over Mulder As Partner or Mulder As Friend. All of it still applies, she simply no longer finds any part strange or new. Everything sort of clicked into place after they moved into the house together.

“My ears?”

“And your… other parts,” he says as he continues kissing her neck. She lets him, because even though she’s hungry for dinner, she’s hungrier for him.

“Mmm. Tell me more, then.”

“I’d rather show you.”

She smiles, quite used to these overtures by now, every single night. It seems the first order of business every evening is to satisfy their desire for each other, regardless of how late she arrives home. Living in the same space has only increased their need, especially when they have to be apart for most of the day. When they were on the run, they’d had nothing to do but have sex, and they still both seem to be insatiable. In fact, she can’t remember a night since they moved in that they hadn’t had sex. _Surely, there must be a few. Right?_

She pulls his mouth to hers to taste his familiar saltiness, and he immediately puts his hands beneath her shirt and her nipples harden against his touch. He undoes her bra and strips her of her clothing quicker than she’d anticipated but considering what she feels in his pants he must have been waiting for her for quite some time. She almost feels bad for getting her hair colored instead of heading straight home to fuck his brains out.

She doesn’t have much to do other than slide his sweatpants down his legs, as he’s got nothing on underneath. The man always has been a fan of efficiency.

She wants to laugh at how often already they’ve both been stark naked all over the house, and once again she feels fortunate they are so isolated from the rest of the city. It’s just part of their new normal, and she’s really enjoying it.

Once they’re both completely stripped their lips meet again, their hands unable to control themselves. She knows this will be quick, and that’s fine with her because their dinner is getting cold.

“Wanna go upstairs?” she asks between kisses. He shakes his head.

“No, right here.”

She grins, because they actually haven’t had sex in the kitchen yet and she’s been wondering when it would happen.

“Okay. So… the counter? On the floor?”

“No. Right here.” He gestures at the table.

She turns to look, then back at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“Mulder, you already set the table.”

He shakes his head. “That’s my Scully, always the rational one.”

She crosses her arms in front of her. “Tell me this wasn’t your plan all along,” she says.

“I’m more of a spur-of-the-moment type guy.”

She looks back down at the table. It looks so… _nice_. She hates making messes and he knows it.

“Come on, I'll clean up, I promise.”

“Please don’t tell me you saw this in one of your porn videos, Mulder,” she says, half seriously.

“What porn videos?” he asks innocently. “I couldn’t imagine what you mean.”

She smiles, rolling her eyes. Kitchen table sex is not necessarily a stunt she’d decide to try herself; she’d be perfectly content making love to him in their bedroom for the rest of their lives. But she can’t deny it’s sexy when Mulder thinks outside the box. It always got them further professionally, so it’s only natural it would make their sex life even better, too.

“Fine, but let me at least clear the dishes off, first.”

She turns around to do just that and as she picks up a plate he takes her hips with his hands, bending her over, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

“Just… go with it, Scully,” he whispers.

She can feel his erection behind her, nestled up against her, unbelievably hard. Her heartbeat thuds deeply within her center as all the blood rushes inwards. It’s so intense it actually adds to her arousal and she wonders if he can feel it. She closes her eyes, letting go of the plate, giving in far more quickly than she should. In this moment she thinks he could talk her into just about anything.

He pushes her newly red hair aside and kisses the back of her neck, kissing that quickly becomes sucking and licking; intense in the style of Mulder. She decides to indeed “go with it,” and goes all in, bringing her fingers to touch herself, testing the waters. She feels his hand cover hers, and he pushes her fingers between her legs with his own. She gasps and reaches out to grip the edge of the table with her other hand, as he moves her fingers deftly around the area he’s probably more familiar with as of late than she is.

Soon he gives up on bothering with her fingers at all, his own seeking her clit and drawing circles around it, eliciting the moans she knows he’s been dreaming about all day. She decides to give him exactly what he wants, speaking his name the way she knows he likes to hear it.

“Mulderrrr…” she purrs, as she reaches behind her to grab a firm hold of his dick. Her mouth opens in surprise, reacting to how hard he is. She’s amazed at how quickly this entire thing escalated and how turned on she is.

He leans forward to kiss all along her back, from the top of her spine down to the dimple at the bottom. He’s had to back away from her to do this and she twists her neck to see him lowering down behind her.

_Jesus, Mulder…._

His oral attentions are always welcomed and from this angle everything feels different. She raises up onto her tiptoes as he works his magic and grips the edges of the table even harder, her torso now completely spread across it. His hands are squeezing her ass softly, and suddenly he removes his tongue and inserts a finger inside her, and she yelps, sending a wine glass skittering across the table, crashing to the floor. 

Suddenly he is behind her again, slowly and deeply pushing into her, and her eyes bulge open at how big he is; how completely he can fill her. It takes her by surprise and as he pumps the table moves an inch, then another, then another. The dishes he’d set out are rattling and shaking and she’s glad she hadn’t put the food on them yet, anticipating a sad ending for everything on the surface of the table.

He reaches around her to touch her breasts, squeezing and pinching the way she likes it. The pressure on her pelvic bones against the table as he drives into her hurts just enough to make her wild with pleasure; she loves a little bit of pain when it comes to sex with Mulder. She’s not sure what that’s about, but it’s the flavor of their relationship; it always has been, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Is this hurting you?” he asks, always the gentleman. She turns her head to look over her shoulder and grips the edges of the table with both hands.

“Harder,” she commands.

He obeys, and after a few more thrusts the table finally stops against the counter. She isn’t sure what comes over her in this moment but inspiration strikes and she is wild with lust. She pushes everything off the table to the ground, the crash of glass oddly sexy due to their current situation. She stands up, losing his heat from inside her for a moment, then climbs up onto the table.

“Jesus, are you serious?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“Come on,” she says. He follows her as she turns over onto her back.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Mulder. You’re killing the moment.”

“I don’t know if this table can hold our weight,” he says with concern, craning his neck a bit.

“If you don’t get going right this second so help me God I will make you learn to cook.”

She feels him entering her again instantly and she smiles at his obedience. They pick up momentum, her back aching against the wooden surface but the ache is wonderful.

It suddenly occurs to her that Fox Mulder is fucking her on their kitchen table in their own house that they live in together, and she wonders if she could ever have entertained such a scenario when she first met him. She’s so distracted thinking about this she’s only vaguely aware of Mulder grunting his approach towards his climax, and as he yells out her name she suddenly feels a sense of vertigo, as if her body is falling, turning at an angle it shouldn’t. She reacts, flinging her arms around his neck, and yelps in surprise.

The table tips, and before she can properly brace herself from impact they are both on the floor, and she can sense pain but mostly humor at the situation. Mulder reacts instantly, lifting himself up.

“Oh my god… honey, are you okay?” she hears him say as he rolls off her.

_Honey?_

“I’m fine, I’m okay,” she says, even though her back does hurt like hell. She’s more preoccupied with this new Mulder that apparently calls her pet names.

She starts to giggle. “Did you just call me ‘honey,’ Mulder?”

A shade of red she’s never seen before covers his face. “Did I?” he asks.

“You did!” she laughs.

“It just came out, I guess. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry,” she says sincerely. “I liked it.”

He smiles and starts to inspect her body for injuries. “Are you sure you’re okay?” They look over at the kitchen table to see exactly what happened. It appears one of the legs came loose completely, which caused the entire thing to topple over. It looks salvageable, but a large crack has appeared on the corner.

“I’m fine. Shit, that table is brand new.”

“Was,” he corrects.

Mulder starts to gently lift her up, looking for cuts and bruises. “Scully, you’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” she doesn’t feel much other than slightly disappointed this interruption has precluded her orgasm. He helps her to her feet and goes to the sink to get a wet washcloth.

“You fell on some glass.” He laughs a bit as he cleans her up, the absurdity of the entire thing shifting into focus. “Here, step away from it,” he says, and walks her away from the shattered mess.

“Mulder.” She stops him from tending to her wounds and takes his hand, kissing his fingertips. He tilts his head, realizing she’s actually not finished with their little escapade, and she inserts his index finger into her mouth suggestively.

“ _Oh_.” He smiles. “We still have to take care of you, don’t we?”

He takes her hand and leads her over to the couch, where she lays down on her back. As he throws her legs over his shoulders and ducks down out of sight, she can see his eyebrows waggling.

“You ready, Scully?” she hears him say.

She smiles, eyes closed, scrunching her face up in excitement. Their dinner will have to wait, but she decides Chinese food probably tastes better cold anyway.

“Yes. Do your worst. _Honey_.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The kitchen has been cleaned up, the table leg reattached. Scully goes upstairs to properly attend to her cuts and Mulder sets the table again.

After they eat, they lounge on the sofa, Scully’s head in his lap, one of his hands playing with her hair, the other dangling off the back of the couch. She reaches up to take his hand, gently brushing his fingers with hers. She doesn’t think it’s possible to feel more satisfied than she does in this moment.

“I like what you’re doing with the house,” she says after a while.

“It’s a work in progress.”

There’s a stack of magazines and newspapers on the arm of the couch and she accidentally kicks them off when she moves her feet.

“Sorry. Wow, Mulder. That’s a lot of magazines.” It’s not surprising that he’s absorbing as much content as possible, his obsessive nature is always bound to come out in some form.

“I’ve been reading a lot. The world does indeed keep spinning without me out there in it, Scully,” he says. “If I can’t be part of it, at least I can stay in the loop.”

His voice sounds just the tiniest bit wistful, and she understands. But it has only been a few weeks, after all. There’s no end date to their situation in sight.

She shivers at the phrase ‘end date,’ her mind leaping to the cancer man’s prophecy. _Well, other than that end date._

“How are you doing with all this, Mulder? Really?” she asks. She prays he gives her the answer she wants to hear.

“I’m happy as a clam,” he says, finding her eyes. “Really.”

She believes him.

“What did you do today? Besides plan that kitchen table attack?”

“To be fair, I didn’t really plan that,” he admits. “But when inspiration strikes…”

“Inspiration, Mulder?”

“You were the one who jumped up onto the table,” he points out, chuckling.

She smiles to herself. “Well, Eleanor Roosevelt said to do one thing every day that scares you.”

“Show-off.”

“Seriously though. I know this must be difficult for you. But I’m very happy you’re here. With me.”

He stops fiddling with her hair and leans over to kiss her gently. “This is where we’re meant to be right now, Scully. I can feel it.”

She smiles and hopes he’s right. She can’t help but wonder how differently things would be had they not been forced to take drastic action to save his life. They hadn’t had a moment to think, or reflect on any of it. All they could do was run and hide. Where would they be today if it weren’t for the FBI’s railroading? Still in her apartment? In a house much like this one, but with Mulder's freedom? What would he be doing right now if he had a choice?

“Scully, will you marry me already?”

The question comes out of nowhere, as it usually does. She looks up at him and knows he’s messing around. At this point it’s a huge joke between them, and as much as she wants to tell him yes, the timing is still not right.

“I don’t think so,” she grins, and he rolls his eyes.

“Someday I’ll wear you down.”

“I think you might, Mulder,” she says honestly. She knows he won’t stop trying until she says yes. He never gives up.

She brings his hand to her lips and kisses it, then sits up next to him and rests her head against his shoulder. His feet are propped up on the table and she kicks hers up next to his.

“I’m exhausted,” she says after a few minutes, and moves to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Not so fast,” he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her into his lap. She laughs, kissing him, not knowing how she could ever get tired of this, of him. His passion, his devotion to her, even his stubbornness still has the ability to make her insides quiver.

“Never enough, huh?” she grins, holding his face.

“Never.”

She looks into his eyes, and her mind drifts to a time that feels like a lifetime ago, a time when their cohabitation hadn’t been so voluntary: a pink polo shirt and a plastered-on grin. Plastic flamingos, and trash monsters. CC&Rs and minivans. So much has changed and yet they both somehow remain the same.

She hopes he’s right, that this is how it was meant to be for them.

“Well then, let’s get it on, honey.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are just some unremarkable house fluff and smut. Enjoy, before things get angsty again.


	21. First Phone Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can feel blood rushing to her center, her heartbeat pounding throughout her entire body. She thought this would be a quick favor she’d do for him, then she could get back to work and go about her day. But now she wants the same thing he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… let’s not get started on how unrealistically Scully’s medical career progressed post- The Truth. None of it makes sense at all, and if 1013 doesn’t care, then neither do I. So in my head she’s in residency for neuro. Cool? Okay.

 

 

 

**(February 23, 2004)**

 

She stirs, in the middle of a pleasant dream. It’s abstract, and she’s still in that place between asleep and awake where her body feels like it can’t move of its own accord. But she does feel _something_ , something good.

Something… pleasurable.

Her eyes flutter open and she looks sleepily at the pillow next to her, where she sees an indentation but no Mulder. Her confusion melts into contentment, however, when she feels a familiar tongue between her legs, moving slowly, languidly.

She smiles, allowing herself to enjoy it for a little while before letting him know she feels him.

“What a way to wake up,” she says, lifting the sheet.

His licking turns to kissing and he grips her thighs firmly, righting her body and spreading her legs, going in again with gusto. She’s glad she fell asleep last night in one of his old college T shirts and nothing else.

The roughness of his chin creates some new sensations down below and she realizes she hasn’t felt his face inside her since he’s had this much stubble. Lately he’s been going three, four days before bothering to shave, and she likes it. He looks sexy with the beginnings of a beard, and she’s told him so. She decides she likes the feel of it between her legs, too.

After spending a few minutes making this the best morning in recent memory, Mulder crawls out from underneath the sheet and lays next to her, resting his head against her shoulder. Her heart pounds loudly as she comes down, and she runs her fingers through his hair and along his scratchy chin.

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he says with a smile.

She was wondering if he’d remember this year. In the entire time they’ve know each other he’s remembered her birthday only a handful of times. She isn’t much for celebrating anyway, so she doesn’t really mind. But it makes the times he does remember all the more special.

Especially when remembering leads to him waking her up with his tongue inside her.

“Thank you,” she tells him. “That was a fantastic present.”

“That wasn’t for you,” he points out.

She grins and rolls over to kiss him, enjoying the feel of the scruff against her face.

“I gotta get to work. I have a surgery this morning,” she says, her hand on his cheek. He pouts a bit.

“I’m taking you to dinner tonight, so what time will you be home?”

She looks at him. He can’t _take_ her anywhere. What is he on about? Off her confused look, he assures her.

“Trust me, Scully. Okay?”

She nods. “Seven. By seven.”

He kisses her again and she rolls out of bed to start the day, although it’s already started fantastically, thanks to him.

 

***

 

She’s only been at work a few hours, and after finishing up a procedure she’s about to do some paperwork when her phone buzzes.

_“Hey, um… hey, Scully.”_

She feels the beginnings of what she can only describe as panic. She stands up at her desk and heads out of the office, talking in hushed tones.

“What is it, are you alright?”

Mulder never calls her at work, he only texts, and only when necessary. There’s nobody nearby, but she still feels exposed, on her guard.

_“Everything’s fine, I just… I have a little… problem.”_

“What kind of problem?”

_“Well, I’ve been sitting here for the past hour thinking about this morning and… well.”_

She doesn’t think she could roll her eyes any higher if she tried. Why is he bothering her at work with this?

“Mulder, are you serious? And what, you wanted to call me to show-and-tell?”

_“It just really turned me on, Scully.”_

“Oh it did, did it?” She smirks, knowing it did. He frequently insists he enjoys his time between her thighs more than she does, and she always disagrees, knowing he will never experience the breadth of his own talents. She starts thinking about this morning now, too, in spite of herself.

_“Yeah, and you left so fast. I didn’t really think it through.”_

“I guess I kind of left you hanging, didn’t I?”

_“Sorry. I just wanted to call and see if… you could help me out, you know?”_

She imagines Mulder at home at this very moment, probably on their couch, his hand around his painfully hard erection, stroking himself, and having this overwhelming desire to hear her voice. Just thinking about it makes her a little short of breath.

“Can’t you... take care of it yourself? I’m pretty busy here.”

_“I could, and I would, but…”_

“But what?”

_“I can’t today, not on your birthday, Scully. Come on. I’d feel really guilty.”_

“It’s fine. I’m giving you permission.”

_“I want to involve you. Please?”_

Deep sigh. “I am at _work,_ Mulder. I can’t believe this.”

She already knows she’s going to do it. Thanks to this phone call and the mere suggestion of such naughty behavior, her panties are already soaking wet. She makes her way towards the locker room, hoping she has an extra pair somewhere.

_“I promise you, this will not take long.”_

“ _That_ I believe,” she smirks.

She arrives at her locker and opens it, rifling through the clothes inside. She doesn’t keep many changes, but after a particularly exhausting surgery she typically showers before heading home where she knows Mulder will most certainly jump her tired-yet-clean bones.

Triumphantly, she locates a pair, stuffs it in her pocket, and slams the locker shut, looking around the room. It’s completely empty.

_“Where are you right now? Did I just hear your locker slamming?”_

“Yes, I’m in the locker room.”

_“Why did you go into the locker room, Scully?”_

She can hear the motherfucker smiling and rolls her eyes again, looking under bathroom stalls, making doubly sure she’s alone.

“I’m getting a change of underwear because this phone call has made me unbelievably wet, Mulder.”

 _“Oh, fuck.”_ She hears him groaning, grateful he’s getting going so quickly. They’ve never done this before. She isn’t even sure what he wants her to do, exactly.

“What do you want me to say?”

_“Say something… uhhh… say something you’d say at work.”_

“What?”

_“Just start talking, Scully. Pretend I work with you or something. It’s sexy.”_

She smiles, knowing how much he loves when she talks about anything science related. “Okay, well... today I assisted on a procedure to clip an aneurysm in the brain of a sixty eight year old man.”

_“Okay, no. Let’s switch gears. Try something else.”_

She thinks for a moment.

“Okay. How about this,” she says softly, fingering the loose braid hanging down her back, pulling it in front of her shoulder. She sits down on the bench inside one of the showers and closes the curtain, leaving it open a crack to keep an eye on anyone that might happen to enter.

“Remember that night we were in the forest together?”

_“With the flesh eating insects? Jesus, Scully, that’s not sexy.”_

“No, not that time.”

_“You mean... the moth men?”_

“Yeah, that time.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and she wonders if she’s gotten too sentimental to achieve the desired result. But she forges ahead.

“I wanted you so badly, Mulder.”

He’s quiet. Then: “ _What did you want, Scully?”_

“I wanted... to take you up on your offer.”

She can hear him breathing on the other end, deeper and deeper.

_“Tell me more.”_

“After you fell asleep, I thought about it. Thought about getting naked with you inside a sleeping bag.”

_“What did you think about, Scully?”_

“I thought about your body next to mine, naked. Sweaty. Hard.”

_“Christ… Scully…”_

She can hear him grunting softly, and she pictures his face; his eyes closed in ecstasy, his perfect, plump lips, and how turned on she can make him. Not entirely cognizant of what she’s doing, her hand is suddenly sliding into her scrub pants, down into her underwear, seeking out the source of her arousal.

“I thought about you kissing me, touching me. I wanted you to touch me, Mulder,” she whispers. She did think about it at the time, but it’s been years. Now it’s all coming back. Remembering how she felt back then and knowing how she feels right now creates a strange dichotomy within her. He’s hers now, all hers. They can do whatever they want.

_“Where did you want me to touch you?”_

Glad there’s no one roaming the locker room at the moment, she moves her fingers within her folds, amazed at how wet she already is.

“Everywhere,” she says simply. “I wanted you everywhere.”

_“Keep going, Scully…tell me exactly where you wanted me to touch you...”_

“I wanted you to touch… uh… my breasts,” she starts.

_“Yeah, you have the most gorgeous tits, Scully… your nipples are so tiny and perfect… and hard, are they hard, Scully?”_

He’s obviously a lot more experienced at this phone sex thing than she is. All those years of 900 numbers under his belt have honed this particular practice, she imagines. She grins a little, thinking this is pretty fun. Dirty Mulder is fun.

“Yes… definitely, they are definitely hard.”

_“So we’re in the sleeping bag… what else do you want me to do? Tell me everything.”_

“You’d... um… put your fingers inside me, Mulder.”

_“Yessss, Scully…”_

She can feel blood rushing to her center, her heartbeat pounding throughout her entire body. She thought this would be a quick favor she’d do for him, then she could get back to work and go about her day. But now she wants the same thing he does.

“And that night… remember that night you taught me how to swing a baseball bat?”

_“Yeah...?”_

“You thought I couldn’t tell, but I could.”

_“You could tell what, Scully…?”_

“I could tell how hard you were.”

He shudders, and she can hear him groaning rhythmically.

“You were so hard behind me, and I wanted you so much, Mulder…”

She’s getting introspective now and wonders why she never said anything, never did anything. It all seems so stupid all these years later.

_“What would you have done, if you could do it again…? Tell me exactly what you would do, Scully…”_

She wants to please him, she wants to prove she can do this. She knows what she _should_ say but the words are having trouble leaving her mouth.

“I’d have... thrown you down into the dirt and ripped all your clothes off.”

_“What else… oh god, what else…?”_

She hears him breathing, and can picture him stroking himself, the same way he’s done so many times in front of her. She knows he wants her to get more explicit, and she’s past the point of no return now. She decides to give him what he wants.

“I’d have… put… my mouth on you.”

_“Where, Scully…? Where is your mouth?”_

“On… your dick.”

_“Mmmmm…”_

“I’d have... taken your dick in my mouth and sucked, hard.”

_“Jesus…”_

“Then... I’d take all my clothes off… and sit down… on you.”

_“On my face? Yeah, Scully, sit on my face…”_

Her eyes widen. “No! Not on your face. There’s all that dirt everywhere.”

_“It’s a fucking fantasy, Scully!”_

He sounds exasperated and she would laugh if she wasn’t so turned on. She remembers she’s doing this for him. Mostly.

“Fine, I’m sitting on your face.”

_“Oh god… Scully… you taste incredible…I’m squeezing your ass, Scully, and you’re riding my face, and it’s so good…”_

_He’s_ good, really good. Suddenly she doesn’t want to be outdone. She can be good, too.

“You can taste me… and I can feel your tongue inside me, and it’s soooo good, Mulder…”

_“Is it? Is it good, Scully? What else? What am I doing, tell me exactly what I’m doing to you...”_

She’s suddenly not afraid of anything anymore. “Your tongue, Mulder… it’s moving so fast, I’m so wet… and I’m touching myself, you’re making me so wet…”

_“Jeeeeesuusssss, Scully…”_

“Then… then I take your… hard dick in my hand, and it’s so big, it’s so hard…” she’s scrambling, not sure exactly which words are turning him on specifically, but whatever she’s saying is working.

_“Unnnngghhhhhhh….”_

She smiles, breathing heavily, finally letting go.

“Your dick is so hard, Mulder, I want you inside me…”

Her finger is swirling frantically inside her panties and her nipples are as hard as pebbles, aching underneath her scrubs. She can’t do anything about it because one hand is down her pants and the other is holding the phone. All she wants right now is Mulder’s body against hers and she can’t have it. The frustration is maddening and only makes her touch herself with more intensity.

“I need you inside me so badly, so I slide down onto you, and you feel so good, Mulder…”

_“It’s so good…”_

Suddenly the door to the locker room opens and a nurse enters. Scully quickly removes her fingers from their busy work, eyes wide, and closes the curtain, trying to slow her breathing.

_“...Scully?”_

She’s quiet, trying to think of what to say.  

“Um… the procedure… was a success today,” she starts, unsure of how to proceed. He’s quiet on the other end and she suspects he knows she’s switching gears for a reason.

“When there’s a brain aneurysm, there’s a weak spot in a blood vessel. And it fills up with blood, and… bulges.”

She hears panting on the other end again and smiles.

“It _bulges,_ until… it can't bulge anymore.”

_“Scullll-eeeeeeee….”_

“And so,” she continues, peeking around the curtain. The interloper is changing out of her scrubs, presumably to go home.

“So we had to slow down the flow of blood to the brain. Really, really slow it down. With this tube. It’s… a long tube.”

She’s reaching, but at this point she suspects her voice alone is doing the trick, and Mulder’s rhythmic grunting appears to be bearing that out.

“It’s a _really_ long tube. And... big.”

It’s not a big tube, not at all. She isn’t even describing the correct procedure. She squeezes her eyes shut, knowing this is so stupid. But she also knows he can’t possibly last much longer and so help her God, she will finish him.

“You don’t want the aneurysm to burst. When it bursts… it’s all over.” She adds one more to drive this home. “ _Burst.”_

Mercifully, she hears him climaxing, the familiar sounds of his release music to her ears. She stays silent and waits for a minute, hoping the nurse will leave.

A locker slams and Scully peeks out to find the nurse staring right at her.

“Weren’t you in on a craniotomy this morning, Dr. Scully? Not an endovascular coiling?” she asks. She’s right, because she now recognizes this nurse as having been in the surgery with her.

“Um. Yes, yeah. I was.”

The nurse narrows her eyes, and with a knowing smirk, exits the locker room.

_Shit._

Dr. Dana Scully is a very private person at work, and although she obviously hasn’t let anyone in on who her significant other is, her colleagues are well aware she’s off-limits. Now this particular colleague has been witness to more than she’d ever intended on revealing.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” she breathes into the phone.

 _“I had no idea a bursting aneurysm could be so hot,”_ Mulder finally speaks.

“It isn’t, believe me.”

“ _Thanks.”_

She can still feel a twitch between her thighs, unfinished business. But this little game has gone far enough.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at home.”

 _“What about you, Scully?”_ he asks. No doubt he’d clued in on her own heavy breathing during their little interlude. She’s tempted, but…

“I don’t know, Mulder…”

_“Wanna hear about when I first wanted you?”_

She smiles. “You mean, the second I walked into your office and you shook my hand? You’ve told me this story before.”

_“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you another one, then.”_

She pauses, hesitant, but the locker room is empty again and her insides are on fire. _What the hell._

“I’m listening.”

 _“All you have to do is listen.”_ He pauses for a second, then continues. _“The Arctic Circle, remember?”_

She nods. He can’t see her but she knows he’s aware she remembers.

_“I really thought we might all die up there, Scully. There was so much on my mind but being stuck in that place… I was bouncing off the walls. It was the first time thinking about you naked was really interfering with my work. Hell, it was interfering with my survival.”_

She remains quiet, wanting to respond. But she listens instead.

_“When you locked me alone in that room, I was mad at you, upset you didn’t trust me. In the moment, alone in that room, I had... some thoughts.”_

“What thoughts?” she whispers, so quietly she isn’t even sure he heard her.

_“I thought about... pushing you up against the wall. Having my way with you.”_

Her breathing has picked up and her fingers have found their way inside her underwear again.

 _“At first you resisted, but you wanted it and I knew it. Even before I knew what you liked, I_ **_knew_ ** _what you liked, Scully.”_

She pictures her younger self, how different she was, how much less experienced. Was his dominance something that had always subconsciously turned her on? Fuck if she knows. He certainly brings it out in her now.

“What… what would you have done to me, Mulder?” she asks him quietly. She wonders if he’s saying this purely for her benefit or if he really had fantasized about dominating her. She’s not sure which scenario is more of a turn on.

_“I imagined it, Scully… in that room… holding you pinned against the wall, kissing you so hard. Your body was so much smaller than mine, I covered you completely. It was like you were melting into me.”_

She’s biting her lip, trying to stay quiet, closing her eyes. Her breathing is getting faster and louder.

_“Then I tore your flannel shirt off, and pulled your pants down, and there you stood, completely naked. For the taking.”_

He pauses for a second, listening for her reaction. He must be pleased with what he hears because he continues.

_“Your tits were perfect, just like I’d imagined. I grabbed them and squeezed them, pinched them. I took both your nipples in my mouth, first one, then the other. They were so hard, because it was so cold. I wanted to warm you up.”_

Just hearing the sound of his voice has always been a turn on but she’s never experienced it quite like this before. It’s brought her arousal to an entirely new level.

_"I reached down between your legs and you were so wet, Scully, you were so ready for me. Your eyes were telling me you wanted me. Even back then I knew what you were thinking by looking into your eyes.”_

She’s biting her lip so hard she’s drawn blood. Circling her clit with her finger like mad, she inhales sharply.

“Turn me around, Mulder,” she suddenly gasps.

He seems confused. _“Hey, this is my story,”_ he chuckles.

“Turn me around! Now!” she yelps into the phone. Her eyes dart around the locker room, still empty. She knows she’s approaching her endgame and she wants this to go the way she wants it to go. It’s her birthday, goddamnit.

 _“Okay, okay…”_ She hears him stifling laughter because he knows she’s the boss. _“I turned you around, and… I held your hands up against the wall, Scully. I held them there and you couldn’t move.”_

_Fuuuuuuuck….._

_“You had this tiny little ponytail, I remember so clearly because you never wore your hair like that. I swept it aside and started kissing your soft skin, then I started biting your neck.”_

Her nipples are so hard they are screaming for relief. She adjusts the phone so it’s cradled between her neck and her shoulder, freeing up her other hand. She slides it into her bra and rubs one of her nipples, circling it around and around, driving herself crazy with desire for him.

 _Mulder’s hands, Mulder’s fingers,_ she thinks, eyes closed, and she smiles.

“ _I took off all my clothes and then we were both naked, Scully, and I stood right behind you, and you couldn’t move at all, and I was so fucking hard I thought I was gonna explode…”_

She inhales sharply again, a familiar feeling approaching fast. She never, ever thought she’d be doing this at work but here she is, on the phone with Mulder, about to come hard in the locker room shower.

_“Then I touched you where I knew you wanted it, Scully… and I wanted it too, so bad… you wanted me so bad, Scully… so I gave you what you wanted, I fucked you right there up against the wall…”_

She’s coming now, staring at a shower head, thinking about Mulder fucking her up against a wall in a tiny room in the Arctic with a single light bulb hanging down.

“Oh… _Jesus_ … _Mulder_!”

She can’t stop his name from escaping her lips and it echoes around the locker room of this hospital that’s never heard his name mentioned in polite society before. She collapses back against the wall, her heart pounding, her insides throbbing, tiny beads of sweat forming at her brow. After a minute, he speaks again.

_“That do it for you, Scully?”_

She can practically hear his enormous shit-eating grin. She laughs as she breathes heavily, her eyelids drooping, a tiny smile threatening to turn bigger.

“Thanks, I didn’t even know I needed that.”

Two orgasms and she hasn’t even gone on her lunch break yet. _Happy birthday, indeed._

_“You’re lucky I’m still recovering from before, because that was insanely hot.”_

“Hey, Mulder?” she says quietly, so, so thankful the locker room remained empty through all of that. “Was all that true? Were you really thinking about me like that at the time?”

He’s quiet for a second and then gives an answer that, yet again, she’ll never be quite certain for whose benefit it really is.

_“It’s a safe assumption, Scully.”_

She smiles, knowing it doesn’t even matter anymore, not really. They’d both fantasized about each other enough times over the years to fuel an endless amount of phone sex. Maybe she’ll let it happen again someday.

_"I’ll let you go back to work now.”_

“Hey, one more thing,” she says.

_“...Yeah?”_

“The story you just told? I want to do that later. That’s what I want for my birthday.”

_“Shit. Done and done.”_

“I’ll see you tonight.”

 

***

 

It’s close to seven, and he’s putting the finishing touches on the dinner he prepared. Well, truthfully, Maggie Scully prepared it, and he watched, mostly. But he knows she would never sell him out. He wanted to do something special for Scully for her first birthday in their new home. It hasn’t yet been quite a year in the house, but he feels like one half of an old married couple already.

 _An old married couple that fantasizes about fucking up against the wall during phone sex,_ he grins to himself. _Yes, life is pretty great right now._

It hadn’t been long before their house really started to feel like a home to Mulder. He knows deep down that wherever he is will be home, as long as Scully is there. But settling down was something she’d been wanting for a long time. She hadn’t communicated so much to him verbally but he knew, he’d known for a while. And in spite of his preconceived notions, he’s enjoying this stint of domesticity.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed to be grounded until they’d actually made this decision to live together. From the moment he entered this house his mind has started to settle in, his heart buries itself into every corner and has decided to stay.

He isn’t used to feeling an emotion so far removed from restlessness. Scully, he’s realizing, is the only person who makes him feel this way.

But although their nights are filled with contentment and happiness, he occasionally feels the restlessness return while she’s away at work. Scully’s residency keeps her away from him for long stretches of time. He doesn’t see her as much as he’d like; but he’s also aware that maybe he’d been spoiled having her all to himself while they were on the run, attending to his needs.

Now she has the opportunity to start again, to rebuild her professional future. He’s happy for her, but he isn’t sure what his own plans are, because he _has_ no professional future. He tries to tell himself otherwise but most days all he can do is languish in solace and impotence, nothing to do, nowhere to go, except into his own mind.

So he goes there, day after day. Within his mind, the restlessness swirls, and it takes him away from himself. There’s an energy he feels there that is hard to contain within the confines of their home. It scares him, this energy, if he’s being completely honest. But he doesn’t want Scully to know about it. He doesn’t want to do or say anything that could pierce this happy bubble they inhabit together. So he keeps it inside.

For now, when he knows she’s on her way home to him, he can keep the energy at bay. Having her mother here to help him today has been a great distraction. He enjoys her company, he always has.

“I think Dana’s going to be impressed with you, Fox,” she grins, as she removes a bright red lobster from the pot of boiling water on the stove.

“Impressed with me? I didn’t do anything,” he chuckles. She hands him the tongs to retrieve the other lobster, which he does.

“There. You cooked,” she says, pointing to the lobster he’s just plated.

“Thanks for your help, Mrs. Scully, I know she’ll love this.”

“My pleasure, Fox. I’m so glad you called. It must get pretty lonely out here by yourself all the time.”

He shrugs. “I’ve managed. The solitude is… unusual, but I think I’ve needed it.”

Maggie hesitates, as if she wants to say something. “How... is Dana doing, by the way?”

He’s a bit confused her mother is asking him this. “She’s doing good, I think. She’s been keeping busy. I think she likes being a doctor again, to be honest.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Has she not talked to you lately?”

“Oh no,” Maggie corrects, and he gets the feeling she’s bidding a hasty retreat on whatever topic she was broaching. “I just meant, in general. She doesn’t talk to me about everything, you know.”

Mulder wonders if she’s trying to get some kind of information out of him, but he’s at a loss. All he can do is smile, look Scully’s mother in the eyes and tell her the truth.

“I think she’s just fine.”

Maggie nods and smiles. “I’m sure she is. You two seem like you’ve got everything squared away here.”

“For now, at least,” he sighs. Maggie knows he’s in hiding from the FBI, and pretty much everything that led to their situation. They’d explained as much as they could the first time she visited them, enough to make her understand the seriousness of it.

Maggie looks at her watch. “Well, I’d better get going. I don’t want her to find me here, or the jig will be up for sure,” she grins.

“Oh, the jig will be up regardless,” he laughs. “She knows I can’t cook. But she’ll appreciate it anyway, don’t worry.”

He helps her with her coat and she gives him a big hug. “It was great to see you, Fox. I’ll see you both soon, okay?”

“Thanks again for everything,” he says, as she heads down the front porch stairs to her car.

“You’re very welcome.” She gets into her car and drives away.

He heads back into the house and finishes plating their meals, which include baked potatoes and a salad. He opens the wine, pouring it into two glasses. He lights the candles on the table and sits down to wait for her. As he does, he recalls his own birthday a few months back.

Scully had employed her mother to help out that day as well, creating a ruse that got him out of the house and over to her mother’s. She’d secretly prepared his own birthday surprise while he thought she was at work. He’d arrived home, mounted the staircase and been greeted with a familiar greenish, effervescent light source. In the hallway, exactly how his own had been years ago, was a fish tank, bubbling softly. Everything was perfect, from the exact type of fish right down to the bobbing UFO.

 _“_ Happy birthday, Mulder,” she’d said, clad only in a tiny negligee. It was the best present he’d ever received.

The sound of a car door slamming jerks him out of his reverie, and he turns out some of the lights in the kitchen and living room, trying to get some nice mood lighting. She comes in the side door as he turns on some soft music, seeing what he’s done instantly, and a huge smile breaks out across her face.

“Look at this. Look at you,” she says with wonder.

“Okay, Scully, so I can’t actually take you out to a romantic dinner. So I thought I’d bring it here, to you.”

“Mulder…” she walks around the kitchen table, eyeing his efforts. He knows she’s impressed, but doesn’t want to have labored under a delusion.

“Your mom came over and… helped. A little,” he adds with a grin.

“Liar.”

“Okay, she made most of it. But _I_ helped,” he protests.

“It’s amazing, Mulder, I love it.” She approaches him and throws her arms around his neck for a kiss. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Me too,” he mumbles into her mouth. To be honest, he’d had a tough time _not_ thinking about their phone interlude, especially with Scully’s mother hanging around all afternoon. “But seriously, let’s eat first, okay? This took forever.”

He grabs her underneath her armpits and physically lifts her away from him, setting her back on the ground. She laughs and wordlessly agrees, and he pulls her chair out for her to sit.

They eat and chat happily, exchanging flirty glances and holding hands across the table. Everything feels so perfect right now, when she’s at home. Every second spent in her presence is a gift, and he’s grateful for it.

“This has been a great birthday, Mulder. Thanks,” she says after they’ve finished. The food is gone and he pours the last dregs of the bottle of wine into their glasses.

“It’s not over yet,” he points out, his eyebrows bouncing.

“Oh, I know. I’m looking forward to that as well,” she grins, remembering their earlier conversation and the promises the evening still has in store.

“Well, that, and something else.”

She looks at him curiously as he gets up, walks over to the counter and pulls a small box out of a drawer. He sits back down and presents it to her grandly.

“I hope you have a defibrillator in the house, Scully, because this is so unlike me you might have a heart attack.”

“What are you up to, Mulder?” she asks suspiciously. He interprets her response as trepidation, probably not looking forward to declining yet another marriage proposal from him, on her birthday, no less. He isn’t going to put her through that, not tonight at least, so he puts his hands up in resignation.

“It’s not what you think, don’t worry.”

She smiles gently at him, and he knows she doesn’t want him to feel bad. She’ll be ready when she’s ready and he just has to wait for that. He knows he’d wait for her forever if he had to.

She takes the box in her hands and touches the ribbon gingerly with her fingertips. It’s wrapped nicely, not his work but that of the jewelry store. She opens the larger box, then the smaller jewelry box inside, and when she opens it she gasps softly.

“Mulder,” is all she says. Inside the box are a pair of pearl drop earrings. She looks at him, jaw agape, eyes wide. He is not a jewelry person, and she really isn’t either, so this feels like a big deal.

“Do you like them?” he asks hopefully.

“I love them,” she smiles. “Where did you… I mean, how…?”

“Your mom helped,” he answers. “I asked her to drive and she went with me.”

She takes the earrings she’s wearing out of her ears, setting them down on the table. She puts in the new ones, one ear at a time.

“I can’t believe you bought me jewelry.”

“I know.”

“Thank you, Mulder.”

“You’re welcome.”

She gets up out of her chair and moves around the table to him for a kiss, sitting in his lap.

“All I ever see you wear are pearls. Why do you like them so much?”

She looks him in the eye and touches his face. He instantly wishes he’d remembered to shave.

“They’re just… completely natural. They come out of the oyster like this. I love that about them. I’ve never really been into diamonds because they’re so refined, changed. Nothing like they are when they come out of the ground. Pearls are different, what you see is what you get.”

She leans into him, holding her face to his cheek. She kisses him tenderly, and the way she’s rubbing his cheek makes him believe she actually likes it this way.

“What you see is what you get, huh?” he asks. “That must explain why you fell for me.”

She pulls back and smiles. “I never made that connection before, but I guess you’re right.”

He grins, and she hops off his lap, taking his hand.

“I think it’s time to go upstairs, Mulder.”

“But I have to clean up here,” he protests.

“Later,” she insists, and he acquiesces. It is her birthday, after all. She should get what she wants.

 


	22. First Cuffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turns the cuffs over in his hands and opens them.
> 
> “I’ve obviously never done this to anyone I wasn’t taking to jail. So…”
> 
> “Hey, Mulder?”
> 
> “...Yeah?”
> 
> She looks him right in the eyes. “Take me to jail.”

 

**(2005)**

 

 

His hand lazily combs her long hair against the back of the couch. Her head is turned, facing him, and she sighs. It had been a long day for her at the hospital, and just as long a day for him, alone at home all day without her. Her eyes close as she enjoys his pampering.

It’s been over two years in this house with her now, and it feels comfortable. This is exactly what he wants, at least for the time being: him and her, alone in their house. Just the two of them. Nothing could be better.

Not that he has much of a choice, in any case.

“So, Scully, you wanna…?” his eyebrows dart up a couple times suggestively.

She smiles and nods, no preamble really necessary when it comes to the two of them and sex. They’re rarely not in the mood. He supposes it might always be this way, that they might always be making up for lost time. In a strange way it feels like a gift now, so many years into their relationship. They’re both always wanting more.

She straddles his lap and leans into him, her forehead resting against his. Her arms cradle his head as she tousles his hair, pulling him into her chest. “Have I told you how much I love you today?” she asks.

“No, you haven’t.”

“Well, I do.”

He closes his eyes, her declaration a treat. It isn’t that they don’t say it; they do. But the words still feel weighty whenever they’re uttered. All those years passed with the words kept inside; it was almost as if releasing them into the world gave them a life of their own.

In response, he takes her face in his hands and with his lips makes his own declaration, softly but with purpose. The corners of her mouth curve up into contentment and they sink into the kiss together.

After a minute she suddenly takes his hands and pushes them behind him up against the back of the couch, restraining his wrists. He’s a bit confused; although anything she does during sex turns him on, between the two of them she’s the one who enjoys this kind of restraint.

“I think we’re doing this backwards, Scully,” he points out.

She shrugs. “I was just trying it on you. No good?”

“Everything is good. But I think we both know you prefer this.”

She lets him go, and he thinks he sees a mischievous look in her eyes. He hopes he gets to find out why.

“Why do you think you like that so much?” he asks. He thinks he knows, but he’s genuinely curious about what she will say.

“I have no idea. I’ve never done it with anyone else besides you.”

He looks thoughtful. “Can I offer a reason?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe it has to do with trust. You trust me, you always have. So the idea that you can trust me so completely turns you on.”

She nods slowly. “That sounds… right, actually. I think you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“God, even talking about this is getting me kind of fired up,” she admits, ignoring his comment.

Before he can say anything else she pounces on him, assaulting his tongue with hers, pulling his hair. He lets her do whatever she wants because he trusts her too, and trusts she will take this exactly where they both want it to go.

She stands up suddenly, her face flushed red, and takes his hands, pulling him up to his feet. “I have a little surprise for you, Mulder,” she says, rather naughtily.

“Typically I hate surprises but I’m very fucking intrigued right now,” he admits.

She raises an eyebrow and smiles, leading him back across the living room until they are standing directly next to the staircase. She backs herself against it, pulling him toward her by the waist, and he pins her between his arms, knowing what she likes, capturing her lips again and moving his aggressively over hers. He hears her exhale loudly as she takes his head in her hands, and closes her teeth on his bottom lip.

He wonders who, between the two of them, is actually more aroused by all this. When his little Scully turns into a wild animal it surprises him every time. But nothing could have prepared him for what she does next.

She reaches behind her, into the top drawer of the table by the stairs, and pulls something out. She’s still caught between his arms but brings the object up into view, narrowing her eyes.

Handcuffs.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Really?”

She shrugs. “Let’s give it a try.”

He stands back and takes the cuffs from her, turning them over in his hands. They’re real handcuffs, not the sex toy kind. He wants to ask her where she got them but decides maybe he doesn’t want to know.

“Where’s the key?” he asks. She reaches into the same drawer and pulls it out, handing it to him. He sets the key down on the table and opens the cuffs.

“Okay… who’s first?”

Wordlessly, she takes the cuffs back from him and slaps one on his right wrist, then hooks him to the banister. His jaw drops. “Scully!”

“You trust me, don’t you?” she asks him sweetly.

“Yeah, but… I don’t think this is how this is supposed to work.”

She shrugs, her eyes taking him in. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hot.” He’s still pinning her to the stairs, now no longer by his own volition. She’s right, it is a little hot.

He waves his free hand at her. “I can do quite a bit with one hand, you know.”

“Oh, can you?” she says. She gets in his face. “Prove it.”

He holds the back of her head with his one free hand and pulls her in, and she holds his face in both hands, kissing him roughly, setting the tone for how he assumes she’d like this evening to go. His hand moves to her pants and starts to undo the button. It’s much more difficult than he thought, but he manages, somehow. Then the zipper, then the pants themselves. It’s a bit of a task.

It must have taken longer than he realized because she starts laughing a bit at him as she steps out of the pants. “Are you done yet?”

“Hey! I’m impaired!” he pouts. “You had to cuff my right one, huh?”

She kicks the pants off completely and takes his face in her hands again, grinning widely, kissing him, running her fingers through his hair. He starts on his own jeans and she pulls away, looking down.

“Need some help?”

“No,” he says, determined. “It’s kind of fun.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, watching the scene before her in amusement. She arches an eyebrow at him.

“This is just sad,” she says, shaking her head.

“No, it’s sexy,” he says. “Come here.” He continues to struggle with his jeans, hopping up and down, the hopeless task appearing more and more hopeless by the second.

She steps closer. “Mulder, this is not sexy. I know you think you’re always right, but this time you are definitely wrong.”

Undeterred, he finally gets the jeans off.

“Ha!” he shouts triumphantly. He bends down to pick them up off the floor and chucks them across the room. “See? Practice will make this perfect, Scully.”

He then takes her jacket off, which is much easier. He starts to pull up her shirt when she stops him. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Okay, I think we’re going about this wrong. Let’s try something else.”

She turns to pick up the key and unlocks him. He rubs his wrist a bit. She hands him the cuffs and takes a couple steps back into the staircase, placing the key back on the table, her hands on her hips.

“You do me.”

He cocks his head to the side and grins. “Now we’re talking.” He turns the cuffs over in his hands and opens them.

“I’ve obviously never done this to anyone I wasn’t taking to jail. So…”

“Hey, Mulder?”

“...Yeah?”

She looks him right in the eyes. “Take me to jail.”

Her eyes are saying _less talking, more cuffing._ The way she’s looking at him alone is enough to make him harder than he thought possible at this stage. So he pushes her firmly against the railing, taking her arms up over her head, and closes one of the cuffs securely over her wrist. He loops them behind one of the balusters, over the handrail, and cuffs the other wrist.

She stands there, stuck in place, arms up over her head, and starts to breathe heavily. She closes her eyes and the breathing quickly turns into panting.

“Shit, Scully, I haven’t even done anything yet,” he says.

“Let’s remedy that, please,” she says as patiently as possible, but he can tell by her eyes she’s wanting him to hurry the fuck up.

He crushes his lips against hers, his hands roaming underneath her shirt, and pulls it up over her head. It doesn’t come off because of the cuffs, so he leaves it suspended across her wrists like a hammock and moves his hands back down. His fingers trace the straps of her bra down until he cups her breasts firmly, his tongue going immediately between them, sliding around the hollow there.

His hands go to the front clasp on her bra and it comes off, again still partially on her because of the position of her arms. She’s now naked, except for her underwear and the clothes still dangling from her appendages, and he steps back to admire the sight of her body handcuffed to the staircase of their unremarkable house, and suddenly there’s nothing unremarkable about it.

She’s still breathing heavily and looking at him wantonly and he grins at her. _This is going to be fun._

“Do you trust me, Scully?” he asks.

She nods, still breathing heavily. “Yes,” she whispers as she bites her lip.

“No matter what?”

She groans, and he knows this was the right decision.

“No matter what,” she manages.

He decides to show her no mercy whatsoever. He comes up close to her and even though she’s already restrained, he pins her between his arms anyway, gripping the balusters with both hands.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, Scully,” he whispers in her ear, and her body trembles visibly.

“I want…” she closes her eyes, turns her head. “I want…”

“Look at me,” he says, taking her chin in his hand and turning her head towards him. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want... your mouth on me, Mulder.”

He smiles and crouches down slowly, first palming her breasts, squeezing gently, tantalizingly. He pinches and flicks her nipples a bit, just enough to get a couple sharp breaths out of her. He goes in for the kill, taking a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it softly and lightly running his fingers over her ribcage and along her back. She squirms around, closing her eyes, trying not to giggle. He grins around the mouthful of flesh as he looks up at her, knowing how ticklish she can be.

He then gets down onto his knees in front of her, raking his fingers down her hips and squeezing her ass, and she inhales sharply again, widening her stance, anticipating his next move. He just watches her for a moment, her eyes closed, her hips arching forward towards him like a flower bud tilting itself up towards the sunlight.

But he won’t give her what she wants, not yet. It’s her own fault. She asked for this.

Holding her hips, he brings his thumbs inward, softly, right up to the edge of her panties. He rubs this area gently for a few seconds and watches her face become increasingly agitated. He gets down close, her scent intoxicating, and breathes onto her without touching her. His tongue darts out, brushing against the fabric just barely.

“Fuck!” she yells, her hips thrusting madly. “Mulder!”

He sits back onto his calves and looks up at her, smiling innocently. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Scully?”

He leans back in and teases her again through the fabric, her desire incredibly obvious. He sees her toes curling as she twists and squirms and he’s never felt more powerful in his life. He suddenly becomes aware of how painfully hard he is and laughs that his little torture tactics are having an effect on him as well.

The sound of the metal cuffs clanking on the wooden railing gets more and more intense as she thrashes wildly. But she isn’t verbally responding to him anymore; she doesn’t seem to want to give him the satisfaction.

He drags his finger slowly across the top of her panties, dipping the tip just slightly inside as he does. The fabric is cool, silky, lavender colored. He hears her moan and her eyes are still squeezed shut as if she’s incredibly focused on something; probably on trying not to give in to him completely yet. It’s as if she’s trying to win a game, trying to resist him somehow.

_Two can play at this game._

He pulls the front of her panties down, kissing the soft skin there, taking his kisses just low enough to meet the top of the patch of curls hidden inside. Her moaning has evolved into a mewling kind of sound, one he most certainly hasn’t heard before. He can tell she’s trying to keep as still as possible to no avail and he’s loving every second.

“Jesus… _fuck_ …” her moaning is driving him crazy. He stops and pulls back, more for his own sake than hers. She tilts her head down to look at him, opening her eyes.

“Why did you stop?” she asks.

“I need a second,” he admits, a weak smile betraying his previously established power.

“Do you want me to beg, Mulder?” she asks suddenly.

He thinks for a second. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him, but now that she’s mentioned it…

“Huh,” he tilts his head, looking up at her. “Kind of.”

She manages a small laugh. She looks down, and he can see her eyes are darker than usual, flushed with arousal. He made them that way. He feels a sense of pride.

“Please, Mulder…” she whispers, and his dick twitches. He’d almost forgotten how much her saying that word turns him on. He stands up, looking at her.

“Please…” she says again, and the corner of her mouth twists up into a tiny grin. Suddenly he’s aware the tables have turned and even though she is completely restrained, naked, and vulnerable, somehow she’s still got the power.

That’s his Scully.

“Ple-“ she begins once more but he stops her by clamping his mouth down upon hers ferociously, pulling at her underwear. She steps out of them, doing her best to keep her lips on his while she’s completely helpless. Before he loses this little battle entirely he pulls his own boxers down, cups the underside of her ass, lifting her off the ground, and thrusts up inside her.

She screams out his name, loudly. He loves living in the middle of nowhere.

He pumps into her forcefully, slamming her into the railing, and her legs wrap around his back. She squeezes as tightly as she can, her arms still locked behind her head. It’s her only avenue of recourse.

His hands leave her backside to roam her body as a string of obscenities emerge from her mouth like he’s never heard before and for a moment he worries maybe this has gone too far. He collects himself, slowing his thrusting.

“Is this okay? You okay?”

“Mulder, shut up! Don’t stop!”

He smiles and carries on even harder, even though he can feel himself tiring, and wonders how long he can keep this up. He vows in this moment to not stop until she comes, and shifts this particular quest into the forefront of his mind, the part that focuses, searches, finds. The part that will get the job done.

As he thrusts his hands move to her breasts again, squeezing them with both hands, her legs locked around him, suspended. His tongue finds her nipple, and circles it a bit before biting down, hard. Probably harder than he intended but he’s currently outside himself with arousal.

She screams louder than ever, but he can tell it’s a scream of pleasure, and just as he thinks his legs might give out he can feel her body shuddering around him wildly, pulling him closer with her thighs. He’s so close himself and wants to join her so with a couple final forceful thrusts he grunts and is spent, and as he does this the banister behind Scully’s back gives way, cracking in two.

He places his hands underneath her backside, holding her up, realizing for the past minute or so he hadn’t been holding her at all and other than her own thighs the only thing holding her weight had been the cuffs.

His eyes glance to her wrists and he sees red grooves and marks where the cuffs meet her skin. His panic mode sets in and he reaches for the key, holding her up, and she lays her head on his shoulder, breathing heavily.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m sorry, Scully, I got caught up… are you okay? Fuck.”

He unlocks the cuffs, tossing them and her dangling shirt and bra onto the floor, and her arms go around his neck as he holds her close.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says quietly into his ear. He can feel her heart pounding against his own chest. She doesn’t sound upset, and he doesn't think she’s lying. She’s always enjoyed sex a little rough but this is new territory for both of them, and he truly worries maybe they’ve gone too far this time.

He carries her back to the couch and sets her down, kneeling in front of her, inspecting her raw wrists.

“Shit. Does it hurt?” he asks with concern.

He needn’t have worried because at this, Scully smiles, and her hands go to his face, pulling him up to kiss him with a decisively hard bite to his bottom lip. 

“It was worth it,” she whispers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know the handcuffs are canon forever (thank you Glen Morgan, seriously) but I imagine it took them several tries before it got to the level we know it got to.
> 
> Several. Tries.
> 
> I’m sure they enjoyed themselves, I certainly did.


	23. First Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve been here before. Words are their own worst enemy. They have so much between them, so much love, so much history, so much unspoken understanding, but when they have to have a real conversation she struggles to communicate and he just won’t get it. He can’t. He’s making this about something external, something impersonal, when to her this is very personal. This isn’t about missing women anymore. It’s about him.

* * *

 

 

**I Want To Believe**

 

**(2008)**

 

Scully watches him as he leaps out of bed and heads to the bathroom, a torrent of thoughts and theories escaping his lips. For a moment she is reminded of how he used to be, how they used to be together.

She loves that them, she will always love that them. But _this_ them is what she wants right now.

The FBI has given up on destroying Mulder, and giving them a chance to repair burnt bridges. This is the very thing they’ve been waiting for for years, and she knows he should accept their offer. But she has doubts, and fears. She cannot shake them.

A missing FBI agent, animal tranquilizers, psychic pedophiles. None of it is subject matter she wants anything to do with anymore, and her mind is ablaze with contradictory thoughts.

On one hand, she knows it’s the right thing to do, for lots of reasons. First and foremost, this missing agent needs their help. Either of them would do it in a heartbeat for that reason alone. It’s the reason she became an FBI agent in the first place. It’s the reason she remains a doctor; keeping others safe from harm, doing anything she can to save a life. And she knows Mulder feels the same way.

For her own sake, she looks forward to the freedom they'll finally be able to enjoy once they’ve gotten out from under the FBI’s thumb. It’s the last thing they need to become a real, legitimate, honest-to-god couple living out in the world. And for him, it’s the freedom to be himself again; to do what Fox Mulder was born to do.

On the other hand, it’s a bit of a devil’s bargain. As much as she knows he needs to do this, she also knows it will pull him back in to the world she’s tried so hard to escape. Mulder has always gone above and beyond most agents, breaking rules, transcending boundaries. It’s the only reason they had any modicum of success during their tenure on the X Files. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit it was what got them into their current situation in the first place.

She worries about him, a lot. When he gets this way, he goes far away from her, away from the world she’s tried so hard to create for the two of them these past few years. She’s been waiting for an opportunity like this one for a long time: to set him free, to set them both free. But faced with it now, she’s afraid of what it might do to him.

He pulls out his razor and shaving cream and begins to lather up. She suspects it’s because she’s just spurned his advances and she appreciates his attentiveness; when Mulder’s sexy scruff became the stuff of mountain men, she stopped enjoying it so much. She’s been tolerating his scratchy kisses for weeks and just opening her mouth and saying something has solved the problem. Like magic.

She wishes it could be so easy with everything else.

After the call from Agent Whitney, they wander back into the bathroom. He faces the mirror and continues shaving, spouting out his new theory in that long-winded yet entirely coherent way she’s accustomed to. She can’t help but feel a familiar stirring in her stomach, the one that loves this old Mulder as much as she hates to admit it.

“You’re coming, right, Scully? Will you come with me?”

She sighs deeply, her mind a turmoil. She isn’t buying his theories tonight, and she has so much else to focus on right now in her own life, with her own work. Attending to the urgent needs of Agent Dakota motherfucking Whitney isn’t high on her priority list. She also can’t help the sour taste left in her mouth from the way the Bureau has treated them, sidelined them all these years. And now they need to hop to their whims? It’s beyond frustrating.

But suddenly an image of Monica Bannan enters her mind, and inexplicably, an image of Mulder’s sister Samantha as well. She can’t quite explain the connection, other than knowing there will always be another person to save, always another madman to catch. She wants to help, but she also just wants some peace.

When will it be over? When will this all stop? When can it be their turn?

“Stop, okay? Just slow down, Mulder.”

He stops and looks into her eyes, and she sees it, albeit briefly: the focus she wants from him right now. She’s well aware of the power she alone has to reign him in, to bring him back down to earth, back to her. He’s like a bright red balloon eagerly bobbing towards the sky, and she will always try to be his string, keeping him tethered, grounded.

She already knows she’s going with him tonight, she always goes with him. Someday she may not, but tonight won’t be that night.

She runs her fingers along his chest, almost unconsciously. It suddenly occurs to her it’s been a while since they’ve had sex. Ten days? Two weeks? She’s been so focused at work she can’t remember. His beard might not have gotten so out of control in the first place if she’d tended to it.

It’s not difficult for her focus to be readjusted, however. She’s no Mulder.

She squeezes in between him and the mirror and hoists herself up onto the sink, one leg resting against either side of him, taking the razor out of his hand. She holds his chin with one hand and starts to shave his face.

“You know, I think Agent Whitney likes you,” she says.

“Really?” He’s looking her directly in her eyes, the way she likes him to. The way she can tell he’s really seeing her. “I didn’t notice. I’m too busy liking you.”

She smiles at his dismissal of the topic. Scully doesn’t really look at the female agent as a threat; her territorial feelings about Mulder rarely extend into outright jealousy.

The razor trips a bit and Mulder winces. She grimaces.

“Sorry.” She finishes up and places a tiny bit of tissue over the cut, then leans back to admire her handiwork. Her nipples harden from the sight of him, his newly shaven face, his half naked body between her legs. As she leans in for a kiss, she pulls him closer to her by the waistband of his pajama bottoms, making a decision to do something about her horniness before they’re thrown back into action once again. She shimmies out of her own bottoms, quite a task while sitting on the sink, and they fall to the floor.

“Scully, we have to go,” he says into her mouth.

She shakes her head slowly and shrugs her silky robe off, facing him with her legs open. “After.”

He narrows his eyes and pulls her in to kiss her as she slides down his pants. Their tongues find each other's quickly and she revels in the feel of his soft chin against hers. She reaches into his pajama bottoms, finding him hard enough to wonder if he’s been sporting this impressive erection since he’d sidled up behind her in bed a few minutes ago. _A little something, indeed._

A wave of arousal finds her center and she squeezes his hips with her thighs in response. He puts both arms on either side of her head against the mirror, pinning her between them; that thing he knows she likes. She feels another hot flush and her sex-deprived brain thinks she could come right now just from this, but she doesn’t want to before she can feel him inside her, so she pushes his arms back down.

“Get inside me now, Mulder,” she whispers, her need paramount. She isn’t sure where this carnal abandon is coming from; maybe it’s love for him, or maybe it’s just going a couple weeks without sex. But he grabs her hips, bringing her to the edge of the sink, and as he slowly slides into her she thinks it’s probably both.

She wraps her legs around him, closing her eyes, her mouth slightly open, allowing the thick heat of him to take over all of her senses. He moves slowly at first, as they both savor this connection they’ve been needing. But soon she hears him panting in her ear and he’s pumping harder, knocking over bottles, making the mirror lights flicker.

The sex is good as always, but routine, and before long it’s over for both of them. She pulls him in as he holds her, clinging to him tightly, twirling her finger around the nape of his neck the way she knows he likes it. He rubs her back softly, every square inch, and kisses her shoulder.

He lifts her up and carries her over to the bed, laying her down gently. She pulls him down and kisses him once more, moving her lips all around his face, making it clear to him she enjoys this freshly shaven, soft Mulder. Maybe he’ll stick around for awhile.

He kisses her forehead. “I’m so glad I shaved,” he winks, withdrawing himself so, so slowly she thinks he’s trying to excite her again, but then realizes he’s probably just trying to avoid a mess. He finishes removing his pajama pants as his eyes wander over her body, naked from the waist down, and she’s satisfied he approves of her hasty decision.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly. It wasn’t a lot of time, but he’d made the time. She hopes it wasn’t solely for her sake.

“I think we should check all the places in the surrounding areas that would sell this type of animal tranquilizer, maybe get some leads that way? What do you think?” He’s wandering around the bedroom, finding his clothes, pulling them on.

She sighs heavily. Amazed at how quickly he can switch gears, she wonders how long she can keep his focus here, truly here with her. This part, his touch, his physical presence, is one thing, but his mind is the tricky part. How can she keep that part here with her forever?

“You’d better get dressed, Scully, or we’ll never get out of here.”

As tempting as never getting out of here sounds, he’s probably right. So she rolls off the bed and does what he suggests.

 

***

 

Two hours later they arrive at yet another dead end, but Mulder is still not finished. He can’t stop, he won’t stop until he saves every last Samantha he can.

She only wanted him to get his life back; to do what he had to do to get his freedom from the FBI and the isolation and the unknown that’s been eating away at him for years.

She’s so, so confused… this is Mulder, this is _her_ Mulder. She loves him the way he is, as crazy as he can make her. But she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life looking for something. She wants to find it, here, now, with him.

The fear Scully has anticipated ever since she realized she had fallen in love with him creeps up her spine like a disease, taking over her mind in an instant, and something comes out of her mouth she doesn’t expect.

“This isn’t about an FBI agent, Mulder. It’s about you trying to save your sister.”

He stops dead in his tracks and she knows she’s gone too far.

He turns around. “My sister is dead.” It sounds final, harsh. But he looks at her with an expression she recognizes, an expression she doesn’t like to see: it’s the look of a man who won’t let go.

“It hasn’t stopped you from looking for her.”

It’s Mulder's truth, the one she fears: that there will always be something else to search for, always something else to find; be it bad news or good news. It’s uncertainty, and the discomfort this brings is frustratingly where Mulder seems to be the most comfortable.

“Mulder, I have been through this too many years with you, believing you can save her. You cannot save her, not now and not ever.”

Thoughts of the futility of saving her young patient Christian Fearon and the futility of ever seeing her son again have permeated her thinking. She has her own battles already waging within her mind, battles she doesn’t share with him. She wants to, but it’s too difficult. All she wants to do is talk to him, but instead she ends up hurting him. It’s not what she intended to do.

He turns from her and forges ahead, and as the collection of frozen body parts is discovered and painstakingly unearthed, she feels a familiar shame inside her yet again, the shame of giving up too soon. Of being wrong, yet again. Of knowing he was right, and allowing herself to doubt him. She wants to rage and cry at this, the injustice of their dynamic at times.

If only he were wrong… if only he were wrong, just once. Maybe then he’d see things her way.

Maybe then he’d stop.

 

***

 

  
Scully slams her locker closed and tries to shift her focus onto Mulder, as he excitedly attempts to pull her back into his world again.

It’s been an exhausting morning; her body physically aches, and her mind is in turmoil. She hasn’t felt her stress at this level since those first few weeks they'd been on the run. Dealing with this experimental surgery, on a child no less, has taken every ounce of her strength. And now Mulder is asking her for more.

She doesn’t have it. She can’t give it to him. And he doesn’t like taking no for an answer.

“I'm asking you to let this go,” she says desperately. She truly believes there’s nothing more he can do that the FBI can’t handle themselves. He’s in it now for his own sake, to see it through, and she can see the obsession creeping back in, this obsession she can’t ever seem to surmount or displace. This obsession he keeps choosing over her.

All she wants is him, back to herself. She’s being selfish and she knows it, but hasn’t she earned the right to be a little selfish? After everything they’ve been through?

“It is not that simple,” he says.

“No,” she sighs, “it's complicated.” She utters the words she’s known for years. If it’s become personal to Mulder, he can’t let it go; it’s just his nature. She’s been waiting for this, hoping it would never happen, but knowing such hope would be pointless.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks defensively.

How can he not know how complicated this is? His singular passion has always been the thing about him that she loved most. Now, it’s infuriating that she has to explain; that her feelings matter, too. It isn’t just about him anymore. He seems to lose that concept whenever he goes to this dark place.

_This is us fighting this fight, not you. It’s you and me. That’s what I’m fighting for, Mulder. You and me._

"Something that I knew would happen, that I've been afraid of, and haven't had to face until now.”

“What? Just say it.”

It’s so hard, it’s so hard to say it.

“I am a doctor, Mulder. That's not my life anymore.”

“I know that,” he says. He sounds so hopeful, like this is all going to be worked out in one simple conversation. He’s always been this way. _If you could just see, Scully. If you could just see it my way._ She doesn’t, not right now.

“You're not understanding me,” she says. “I can't look into the darkness with you anymore, Mulder. I cannot stand what it does to you or to me.”

That time is past, it’s in their past. Why won’t he understand that? Why can’t he just _be_ here with her? Why can’t she be enough for him?

“I'm fine with it. Scully, I'm actually okay. I'm good.”

He’s making so light of this, something that’s important to her. Something that has affected her in ways she doesn’t care to remember.

“Yeah. That's what scares me.”

“Where else would you have me look if you want me to find these women alive?”

They’ve been here before. Words are their own worst enemy. They have so much between them, so much love, so much history, so much unspoken understanding, but when they have to have a real conversation she struggles to communicate and he just won’t get it. He can’t. He’s making this about something external, something impersonal, when to her this is very personal. This isn’t about missing women anymore. It’s about him.

“I'm asking you to look at yourself.”

“Why? I don't think I'm the one who changed,” he challenges. 

“We're not FBI anymore, Mulder. We are two people who come home at night. To a home now.” She looks him right in the eye, pleading. “I don't want that darkness in my home.”

“Scully, this is who I am. It's who I've always been. This is who I was before I met you. It's what I do. It's everything I know.”

“Write it down. Put it in a book.”

At this moment it occurs to her that perhaps, after everything, maybe he cannot be satisfied with the life they’ve been living together. Maybe, in the end, they just both want different things. _This_ is what he wants. He’s gotten another taste of it, he's been reminded of the way it makes him feel, and it’s drawn him back in like he never left. He’s not going to choose her over the darkness, he can’t.

“Are you asking me to give up?”

"No.” She knows where this conversation is headed. She never wanted it to come to this. “I can't tell you to do that, Mulder. But I can tell you that...I won't be coming home.”

It’s the only card she has left to play, and she plays it. She’s too exhausted to continue to feel him out. She needs to know for sure, right now, what his choice is.

“Scully. Don't do this now.”

“I don't know what else to do,” she declares.

It’s the truth. She’s out of options. The exact thing she feared has come to pass. All she wants is for him to return to her but he’s reached the point of no return.

His face registers hurt more than anything, but his next words don’t surprise her. She’d made her intention clear knowing he wouldn’t choose her. She’s expecting it.

“Good luck, then,” he says with an edge of sadness to his voice. It’s only three words, she thinks, three words that have the power to rip her heart in two. She can’t help but think of the three words he’d said to her once that made her whole.

“You too,” she says, barely able to get the words out, and then he is gone.

She drops her head into her hands and cries quietly, so many anxieties swirling around in her mind she isn’t even quite sure what she’s crying about. Knowing for certain that she comes second on Mulder’s priority list has gutted her, and although she’s always known it on some level, seeing this particular truth play out hurts more than anything.

She stands and wipes her eyes, sniffling and composing herself. _Get your shit together, Dana._

Opening her locker, she reaches inside for a tiny plastic box containing her pearl earrings, the ones Mulder gave to her for her birthday a few years ago. She has to remove them during surgery, but they’ve become a staple in her wardrobe now, as much as her cross necklace.

She puts them back in her ears, and a sense of calm washes over her, as if these inanimate objects hold some power. It's the comfort of having Mulder near her in some way. She wants to believe they’ll be okay, they always are, they always have been. But can she live with “okay?”

She sighs, knowing she probably will. She always does, because _her_ truth is she can’t live without him. She’ll always come home to him, even if coming home means coming in second.

 

***

 

The day has been long and Christian Fearon’s surgery had gone extremely well. She won’t be certain of the results until morning but the outlook is positive.

The kiss they’d shared in the front yard had been an important reminder, that words could hurt and they’d hurt each other, but they’d still try their damnedest to escape their brand of darkness, as long as they never give up on each other.

_Don’t give up._

They lay in bed under the skylight and she knows this is important so she tells him.

“I’m sorry for what I said about your sister.”

She interprets his silence as forgiveness. He’s just not sure what to say.

“It was cruel, and I’m not cruel. I was angry and I’m sorry.”

He reaches under the covers to find her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it.

“I know. I’m sorry too, Scully.”

She isn’t sure exactly what he’s sorry about and he doesn’t elaborate. She knows she should ask but she decides to leave well enough alone. He’d apologized for wrecking her car several times, but she knows he wasn’t apologizing for the car, not really. She’s so used to the two of them saying what they don’t mean it’s become second nature by now.

She regrets bringing up Samantha at all, but it was the only thing she could think of in the moment that might make him stop and take a look at himself, how obsessed he can get. It hurt her, a lot, that he’d chosen his obsession over her. It was something she feared and he’d borne it out right in front of her in the blink of an eye. She thinks of the earrings he’d given her, the ones she loves so much, the gift he’d chosen especially for her. No matter what, he is her first priority, but she doesn’t always feel the same from him. She wishes _that_ was a gift he could give her, would give her someday.

Everything seems okay between them now, but what about the next time? She can choose to live in this state of uncertainty with him for the foreseeable future if it means she gets to at least be happy. Being without him would certainly make her unhappy, this much she knows. But the truth is she’s afraid. Afraid this situation, this existence with him may not work out the way she hopes. They have so much baggage, so many issues they haven’t addressed. And she's too afraid to address them.

Is she choosing happiness over truth, even if that means living in denial? She did that once before with William and that turned out horribly. She’d clung to that happiness so tightly that it hurt all the more when it was ripped from her grasp.

 _William_.

She and Mulder haven’t yet had a proper conversation about William. Whenever his name comes up, which is rare, Mulder says something comforting like she suspects he thinks he should, but never presses the matter. He never seems to want or need to talk about it and she feels like there really isn’t ever a good time to bring it up. So they continue in this perpetual stasis, neither of them knowing or understanding how the other truly feels about it.

Never before has the phrase “you can’t help who you love” rung so truly for her in her life. It isn’t fair that the part of Mulder that drew her to him, the very part she loves most is the same part of him that makes her want to scream. She could never let him go, ever. But now she senses a chasm between them that’s beginning to widen. Is the choice to stay with him a choice to seek denial?

She listens to his calm breathing, takes in his familiar comforting scent, and decides she doesn’t want to know. Not right now. Right now, she’s going to choose happiness.

She touches his cheek in the dark, smooth with promise, and he covers her hand with his own. She closes the chasm as she pulls her body next to his, and leans in to kiss him, reminding herself why she is here, why she will always be here with him.

She’s not going to give up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue from "I Want to Believe" written by Chris Carter and Frank Spotnitz.
> 
> Dialogue from "The Truth" written by Chris Carter.


	24. First Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe their timing has never been perfect. Maybe their relationship just is what it is, and she’ll never know if this is truly the right decision for them or not. But he’s said everything she’s ever wanted to hear him say. She wants to have faith in him, in them. He’s promised to try, so maybe she should, too.

 

 

**(2008)**

 

Deep blue sky.

It’s all Scully can see as she lies on her back, not a cloud in sight. If she tilts her head just a tiny bit, the spiky fronds of the palm trees cut into her field of vision like paint strokes on a blue canvas, painting over the old, making something new. She smiles at this thought, that she and Mulder are finally getting this chance to start over, in the real world. She wonders what they’ll make of it this time.

The warm sun on her face is jarring, but in a good way. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt sunlight quite like this in recent memory; she's been so used to the darkness for so long.

Turning over onto her stomach, she sips a bit of the margarita next to her. She lays down, shifting into her towel, carving out grooves for her body to lay comfortably in the sand for a while. She doesn’t plan on leaving this spot any time soon. They really, truly are in paradise.

Mulder is quiet right next to her, exactly where she wants him, always. Something about this moment feels different and she takes pause, letting it in. She’s allowed to feel good. They’ve earned it.

The cool breeze and the sounds of the waves and beachgoers in the distance lull her into drowsiness, so much so that she isn’t sure if she actually does fall asleep or not. But after a while she hears him, softly, saying her name.

“Hey, Scully.”

“Mmm?”

“I want to ask you something.”

She’s been expecting this. And if she’s being perfectly honest with herself, she’s been wanting it. For the first time, she thinks she might actually be ready for it.

“Yeah?” She lifts her sunglasses up and eyes him carefully.

He leans over slowly and kisses her, a soft kiss but one with purpose and intent. He props himself up on his elbow, his face close to hers.  
  
“I know I’ve kept you in the darkness for a long time, Scully, longer than you deserve. We’ve been through some terrible things together. And because of that, I can’t give you the life you always wanted. I’ll always be sorry about that.”  
  
There’s sadness in his eyes, and a twinge of regret. But she focuses on his smile, and the curve of his lips. They _have_ been through a lot together. They’ve lost so much to this quest without losing sight of one another. Maybe they can come out the other side whole, after all.

“But I also know that you’ve always wanted to be there with me, no matter what. And knowing that makes me love you more than I could ever express.”  
  
_This is it_ , she thinks. This is the proposal she’s been waiting for.

He reaches out and touches her cheek. She closes her eyes and enjoys the moment, this perfect moment when it truly feels like they’ve chased their last monster, looked down their last dark tunnel. She sees light and feels it everywhere. Things are different now, she just knows it.

“Maybe you won’t believe me when I tell you you're more important to me than anything else in my life,” Mulder continues. “Maybe you think finding the truth is more important to me. And I don’t say this lightly, but this time, Scully, I know you’re wrong.”

She wants to be wrong. She wants to be wrong more than she’s ever wanted anything.

“ _You_ are my truth,” he continues. “And if you let me, I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

He’s never uttered so many words in a row to her about their relationship as long as they've been together. For all the speeches she’s ever heard him articulate, and as verbose and impressive as each one has been, this one leaves them all in the dust. This time, it’s about _them_ . It’s about how he feels about _her_. As much as he shows her every day, she’s wanted to hear this for a long time.

“I’m not done. Come here.” He helps her up to her feet until they are both standing. She looks around the beach, a little embarrassed by the public nature of this, but there aren’t very many people around anyway.

“Dana Katherine Scully...” he begins as he slowly drops to one knee, dragging his fingers down one of her legs so softly she shivers in the humid heat of the Maldives. This is giving her a secret thrill despite her confounding reservations about the idea of Mulder proposing.

“...My partner, my best friend, my red-headed little-legged goddess, I promise I’ll always let you drive, if you promise to make me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

He looks up at her with those hazel eyes and she can feel herself being sucked in by his gravity, escape impossible. His eyes are black holes, and his next words are her event horizon.

”Will you marry me?”

She can’t even process what he’s done, it’s all happened so fast.

Maybe their timing has never been perfect. Maybe their relationship just is what it is, and she’ll never know if this is truly the right decision for them or not. But he’s said everything she’s ever wanted to hear him say. She wants to have faith in him, in them. He’s promised to try, so maybe she should, too.

For the first time, she wants to tell him what he wants to hear. Right now, all she knows is she loves him and that will never, ever change.

All she knows is she wants to say yes.

Her eyes narrow and she pulls him up to his feet. She puts her hands on his chest, looks up into his eyes, and gives him the answer she knows he’s been waiting at least six years for.

“Okay.”

His face breaks into a grin she's never seen before and she's amazed that all these years later he still has the ability to surprise her. Mulder as Partner to Mulder as Friend to Mulder as Lover, now Mulder as Fiancé. The progression feels natural and she's suddenly wondering why she ever told him no in the first place.

She rises up onto her tiptoes to kiss him and he scoops her up and lifts her to him, and she wraps her legs around his waist, both of them smiling. She’s finding it hard to kiss him because all she can feel are teeth.

She pulls away and looks at him, and in this moment she truly feels happiness, and something that, as content as they’ve both been, has been missing the past few years: real hope.

 

***

 

He really heard her when she told him she was finished with the darkness. He wants to be finished with it, too. Most days he can escape it, and he feels truly content with his life, and with her. Those are the days he clings to when those other days rear their ugly heads.

But he can’t keep those other days away, as much as he wants to. On those days, he can feel his restlessness return, and although they are free, although they are both able to do anything they want now, staying grounded is difficult. She is the only thing that can keep him tethered, so he holds on to her as tightly as he can.

He wonders if this is why he wants to marry her so badly. He loves her more than anything, of course, but he can’t help but hope that somehow, in some way, this final step will ground him for good. He knows it’s a leap of faith, but he’s ready to take it.

She’s finally accepted his proposal, and his heart is soaring. Maybe this is the missing piece of his puzzle; maybe now everything will truly feel settled. All the stars are aligning for them, finally, and he feels like he can heave a huge sigh of relief.

The idea of “forever” has always been particularly terrifying for Mulder. He’s been disappointed so many times in his life, by his family, with his work, in his fruitless searching. Everything has been so fleeting, escaping his grasp. Even at times in the past he’d seriously worried he’d lose Scully, that she’d lose patience with him and leave him. But she never has. They’ve worked so hard over the years to build something that will last, and for the first time he can look ahead to their future unafraid.

_Colonization be damned. At least for tonight._

She hovers above him now on the deck of their private bungalow, the sun setting, the huge windows wide open, letting in the warm evening air. The light from underneath the glass bottom floor illuminates her face in a pale blue light, the cool glass hard against his back. 

 _We have a perfectly nice bed in here,_ she’d said, but he wanted to make love on the glass floor, with the fish swimming underneath them. It feels like they’re inside his fish tank and it’s a surreal sensation to be so close to nature. They are one, their fused bodies surrounded by the vast expanse of liquid space beneath them, and an endless sky above them. It feels metaphysical.

He reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ears, keeping it from tickling his face. She sits on him, rocking gently, surrounding him with her heat, raising her body up and down as she gyrates. It’s hurting his back a little but he wouldn’t change positions for the world. She leans down to kiss him, her long hair dangling in his face, and she drinks him in, slowly, her lips grazing against his softly. He can feel her smiling as their lips touch again and again, and she holds his face in her hands, the smell of sand and sun kissed skin permeating his senses.

She sits up, eyes closed, and he focuses his attention on her, watching every part of her as they move slowly, much slower than they normally would. They’d begun while the sun was still hanging low in the sky, and by now they’ve missed it setting; they’ve missed it sinking beneath that invisible line because they are much too engaged otherwise.

 _Engaged_.

He smiles, looking at Scully, better than any sunset. She leans down again and opens her eyes, smiling back, holding his face as they continue this sensual dance. His eyes shift to look up at the stars, which are just beginning to make their first appearance of the evening.

“You were right,” she says softly, her lips brushing his. “The floor was the way to go.”

“You know how much I love being right,” he replies, his hands sliding down her back to her hips, pulling them into him in rhythm.

She would usually shut him up with a quick retort, but tonight all she can do is smile and he’s living for it. She throws her head back and rides him like she’s living for this, too, her arms braced behind her on his thighs, her pelvis writhing against his.

The ethereal light is making her truly appear like a goddess. Her movements and the curves of her body give the illusion of waves, of water rippling above him. His hands travel over her skin, her stomach, her breasts, enjoying the essence that is her, here and now.

“You’re beautiful, Scully, you know that?”

She doesn’t respond with words but her eyes open part way and she smiles down at him. She knows she’s gorgeous, everyone knows it, but he still wants to tell her. He could never love another person the way he loves her, ever.

Suddenly she leans down to grip his shoulders, whispering his name. He watches her mouth go slack, and he knows that face so well he meets her thrusts at a quicker pace, letting go.

“I love you… I love you, Scully…” he breathes, and can feel his own crest approaching.

She cries out and falls forward onto his chest, just as he feels himself emptying inside her. Their synchronization during sex is so often perfect, he has a fleeting thought that perhaps it’s some kind of karma for all their years of terrible timing. She lays on top of him, quivering with bliss, and neither of them moves for a while, just listening to the ocean and feeling their hearts racing.

“I love you, too,” she says after a minute. He trails his fingers along her back, making her shiver. They lay in the quiet for what feels like forever when he finally speaks.

“How the fuck did this happen?”

She laughs, and soon he joins in, as they think of how this all began, the two of them working cases, interviewing witnesses, arguing over theories. How did they get here? Their life together beyond the X Files has almost surpassed that part in length. It’s hard to believe; having slowed down so much and accomplished practically nothing in that same amount of time is eye-opening for him. Every time he thinks of that he feels a twinge of discomfort.

The restlessness is knocking again, seeking admission, but he turns it away. _No. Not now. Not tonight._

“It is pretty wild,” she agrees. “You and me… getting married. Wow.”

“We’ve come a long way, baby.”

She rolls off him, and he folds his arms behind his head as she cuddles into him, her head resting on his bicep, her hand on his stomach. The glass floor is suddenly inexplicably comfortable. The air is warm, even though the darkness is creeping in.

Here, in this place, he can handle the darkness. Right now he feels invincible.

“God, Mulder…” she says. “You can see so many stars out here. It’s unbelievable.”

“I know,” he responds. “Hard to believe there are so many in the first place.”

They lay in the quiet, the sound of the waves against their private dock the only thing they hear. He feels born again, their prone bodies laid out on the surface of the glass, spent and sated.

“This is a nice feeling,” she says suddenly. “Just… existing. Here, with you. Away from everything.”

He takes her hand and kisses it in response. They lie still and let it all in. He tries not to think of impending colonization, the end of the world, all the bad stuff on the horizon. And he tries not to think about the things they never discuss; specifically, their son. He wishes they could, he wishes she would, but it’s just been too long. There is too much distance between them and what happened. He doesn’t know what to say anymore.

She’s probably trying to forget about it. Bringing it up seems pointless. But he wants to say the things he’s feeling: that he wants a life with her; he wants a family with her. Unfortunately these are things he cannot say, not right now, and maybe not ever.

He's too afraid of hurting her. He's already hurt her enough. So he waits; waits for her to speak. It’s all he can do.

_It’s just as well; the world is coming to an end in four years and bringing kids into it probably isn’t a great idea anyway._

He leans over to kiss her temple. “Hard to believe it’s all gonna be over in a few years.”

He's joking, but she doesn't appear to like it.

“Hey, Mulder? Not tonight, okay? I'm trying not to think about that.”

“Sorry. Bad joke.” He looks back up at the stars, and tries to change the subject. “Fifteen years later, Scully… What do you really think is out there? Now? After everything?”

She sighs. “Stars. Planets. Entire universes we will never, ever see. And the rest… who knows?”

He grins. “Still on the fence, huh?”

“‘On the fence’ is a long way from when we first met, Mulder.”

“Very true,” he chuckles. “Well, if there is something out there… it could be watching us right now.”

She shifts into him, turning her body a bit. He chuckles at her modesty.

“You know, Scully,” he says. “Voyager 1 is still out there. Transmitting signals to anyone or anything that might be listening. Circling silently in the void, no response.” He pauses, thinking. “How lonely it must be.”

“You do realize it’s just a machine, Mulder,” she points out. He can hear her grinning.

“Yeah, I know, I just meant… symbolically, I guess.” He rubs her shoulder a bit. “But it _can_ still see us, even though we’re just a tiny pale blue dot.”

He can feel her smiling against him, and although he probably doesn’t have to explain, he does anyway.

“You remember the picture in our office?”

“I do.”

It’s a photograph Voyager 1 had taken from a distance of six billion kilometers. It shows the Earth as a tiny blue speck amidst the vast inky darkness. It used to hang in their basement office and has since moved to the office in their home.

Suddenly he has a thought. “You know, I never really thought about it before until now but... that’s you, Scully.”

“Me?”

He nods. “Yeah. For me. Whenever I feel lost or alone, or go far away in my mind, I can always turn around and find you, no matter what.”

He turns to look at her, and it seems appropriate her face is bathed in the blue light from the aquarium underneath them.

“You’re my pale blue dot, Scully.”

She smiles and kisses him gently, then drapes her body across his chest. “That’s really romantic.”

They lay quietly for a moment.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Mulder.”

“You’re welcome.”

After a moment he thinks of something. “Shit, Scully.”

“Hmm?”

“I forgot to get you a ring.”

“No, I don’t want one.”

“But, Scully-“

“I don’t. Truly, Mulder. Okay?” She sighs into his chest. “All I want is you.” She adjusts her body to nestle right into his. “Just you.”

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “Okay.”

They hold each other under the stars, bodies entwined, prepared for the future, whatever it may hold.

 

***

 

 

  
After two weeks of paradise, they arrive home. He knew it would come to an end at some point, and their lazy days spent sunbathing and windsurfing and eating and drinking and fucking had gone by far too quickly. But despite these feelings, he’s happy to be home again.

He brings their suitcases into the house and follows her upstairs, where she throws down her carry-on bag and heads to the bathroom, closing the door.

“I have no earthly clue what time it is, Mulder,” he hears from inside. “The world is upside down.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He throws his own bag down and sits on the edge of the bed, grateful they’d planned a couple days at home to deal with their jet lag before Scully returns to work. They truly had traveled halfway around the globe, as far away from the darkness as they could.

“It’s good to be home, though,” she adds. After a minute she emerges from the bathroom, her hair undone, her jacket discarded, her nipples popping out underneath her camisole.

“Are you trying to kill me, Scully?” he asks.

“No, just getting comfortable. I think I’m going to take a nap.”

She approaches him and he pulls her in close by the waist, her stomach at his eye level. He peels her camisole up and plants a kiss on her abdomen, moving his hands around to her backside. Reaching behind her and under her skirt, he pulls her panties down slowly, looking up at her.

“I’m way too fucking tired for this, Mulder,” she moans, looking up at the ceiling, but steps out of them anyway, making no effort to stop him from anything he’s doing. He chuckles and pulls down the skirt, and it follows the panties, pooling on the floor.

She pulls her top up and over her head, freeing up her stomach for his lips to return, gently guiding his face back to where it was. He obliges, kissing and licking around her belly button. She giggles quietly as he does.

“You like that?” She’s ticklish and he loves it whenever she reminds him of that fact.

She nods silently, her head angled back, biting her lip. “Mulderrrrrrr…” she laments, her voice deepening with exhaustion.

“I won’t make you work too hard,” he promises.

Before she can protest, he stands up, turns her around and lays her down on the bed. He kneels down, spreads open her thighs and then his tongue is sliding into her, first slowly, then flicking up and down. She gasps and lifts her legs up and over his shoulders, letting him do his work.

“Mulder…” she hums, gyrating her hips to match his movements. Every time he hears her say his name this way it makes him harder, his dick lurching towards her in need. She moans and makes noises that sound so tired he wants to laugh, but obviously doesn’t, determined to keep her awake long enough to finish.

“God, I wish we’d been doing this forever, Mulder…” she suddenly utters. “Why did it take us so damn long…?”

He smiles. “We have the rest of our lives to make up for it, Scully,” he mumbles as he finds her most sensitive bundle of nerves and begins lapping her up in earnest. He wishes they’d started sooner too, although regret isn’t something he wants to spend any time on anymore. He doesn’t know how much time they have. Their forever is a truncated version, and as unfair as that is to both of them, he’s going to try not to live that way.

She arches her hips, scooting closer and closer to him, and her hands find his hair and she pulls hard, grinding into his face. He detects a slight scent of sunscreen and remembers this morning, that final hour of sunbathing she’d snuck in before they got ready to leave for the airport. She’d laid out on the deck completely nude and he’d pretended to eat breakfast but really just gazed at her for longer than he’d care to admit.

As she pulls his hair again and screams out his name, he reaches a hand into his pants and slides them off, along with his boxers, stroking himself. He watches her recover, her eyes closed, a huge smile on her face.

“Okay, okay, that was a good idea after all,” she says sleepily. “Now I’ll sleep even better.”

“Mind if I join you there?” he asks. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous but he’s so hard he’s certain it won’t take him long.

She nods, “Yes, please….”

He climbs on top of her and guides himself into her slowly, and she wraps her arms and legs around him as he moves, his face in her hair. He can feel her arms getting limper by the second, as she lets him drive, and he knows she’s just so exhausted. He wouldn’t be surprised if she fell asleep while he was fucking her, but he doesn’t want that to happen.

“Scully! Look at me, okay?” He pulls back and sees her looking at him. “Look at me.”

She opens her eyes and he can see she’s too tired to come again, as much as he’d like to give that to her, so he just focuses on finishing himself. He looks into her eyes and she moves her hands to his face, smiling, and after a few more thrusts he’s achieved his goal, collapsing on top of her and quickly rolling off.

Her eyes are closed and he watches her for a minute, her breathing already calm, steady. He watches her chest go up and down, up and down. He listens as she makes some quiet moaning noises, and soon enough she’s fallen asleep.

He slides off the bed, looking for the blanket that’s draped over an armchair in their room. He gently covers her with it and lays down next to her. He reaches out to touch her cheek, sweeping aside her hair, watching, watching. He loves to watch her sleep.

“Thank you _,_ Scully,” he whispers into her dreaming ear. “Thank you for saying yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read Culmination this scene probably felt familiar. I couldn't leave it out of this story and wanted to make it feel different (while remaining in my own headcanon) so I wrote the proposal from Scully's POV. If you're interested in Mulder's POV (and the actual wedding/ stuff that follows, which won't be in this story) please head [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34426004)
> 
> You can check out the Pale Blue Dot photo [here.](https://solarsystem.nasa.gov/resources/536/pale-blue-dot/)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, as always, feedback is welcomed! :)


	25. First Rookie Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His wrist hurts like hell and he can’t feel his arm but he can feel her fingers wrapped around his own, and it grounds him; she’s always his port in the storm. Her head rests against his chin and he kisses her hair.
> 
> “I like married life so far,” he says after a minute.

**(2008)**

 

 

The house stands quietly in the yard, trees gently swaying in the breeze. The grass out front is tended, but wild. The porch swing creaks as it dangles, moving slightly in the wind. No other dwelling is in sight. It’s a perfectly unremarkable house in the middle of nowhere, worn but loved.

Inside the house it is quiet, only the sounds of a ticking clock tap tap tapping, a leaky faucet drip drip dripping, and all is calm.

When its occupants left this morning, they were engaged. Now the door bursts open and laughter echoes within. A smiling husband carries a smiling wife across the threshold and rather unceremoniously plops her down on the floor.

“This time, it counts,” Mulder grins as he gestures back toward the threshold. He takes Scully’s face in his hands and kisses her inside their house for what must be the millionth time. They’ve come such a long way already but he feels like it will still be a while until he’s used to this; Scully as his wife.

“Third time’s a charm, I guess,” she replies.

“Technically, second,” he points out. “You didn’t let me do it at The Falls.”

She laughs and pulls him in by his tie to kiss him in that sexy way she used to when this aspect of their relationship was so new. Back when he still wore ties. It feels like forever ago. She notices, too.

“I think this is the first time you’ve worn a tie in front of me in at least five years, Mulder,” she says as she softly moves her lips over his.

He thinks. “It’s been a good decision. They take too long to remove.”

She grins and pulls his jacket down over his shoulders, tossing it onto a chair, then continues pulling him back towards the couch as she starts untying the tie. He appreciates her desire to consummate this marriage as soon as possible, and he’s more than eager to comply.

She gets the knot undone and uses the ends to pull him down on top of her, falling back onto the couch. She runs her fingers through his hair with one hand, sliding the tie around his neck with the other, tossing it to the floor.

“I forgot to tell you something,” he says suddenly, pulling back.

“What?”

“Skinner called earlier, and… I told him, you know. I gave him our address. He’s coming by later to say hello.”

Scully cocks her head, perplexed. “Skinner? He called you? Today?”

“Um. Yeah.”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Our old boss Skinner, who we’ve spoken to once over the past six years, happened to call today, of all days. For what, Mulder?”

“Fine. I called him,” Mulder admits.

She smiles, shaking her head. “What for?”

Mulder shrugs. “I just… I wanted to tell somebody. Anybody. I don’t know. I got sentimental.”

As the words leave his mouth he hopes he doesn’t sound too pathetic. But it’s true: he wanted to tell someone. He doesn’t have many friends anymore, he’s lost touch with most of the people he knew, and his family are all gone. Scully is the only person he has, really. And she already knew they were getting married.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says quietly. “That’s sweet.” Her face suddenly reddens. “What… what did he say?”

Mulder leans down to kiss the tip of her nose. “He said ‘it’s about time,’” he chuckles.

“That seems to be the theme of the day,” she grins. They’d bumped into Agent Doggett earlier that morning and he’d said the same thing.

She smiles and closes her eyes, shifting her body a bit underneath his. He moves his own body slightly, not wanting to crush her, and brushes aside a strand of her long hair. She gazes up at him and covers his hand in her own, softly stroking his fingers.

“I always wondered what Skinner thought about us, Mulder. Did you?”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs. “I mean… even back before we were together. We were still _together._ All the time. Didn’t you wonder what people thought of us?”

He props his weight on his elbows and looks down at her. For a minute her eyes are those again of Special Agent Dana Scully, the woman he tried so hard for so many years not to fall for. The eyes that had drawn him in long before he realized it. They’re so different now, it’s strange to think of how things were so long ago. He idly wonders how many men at the Bureau had fallen into her eyes just like he did.

He wonders if Skinner ever did.

“You know me, Scully,” he says. “I don’t care what anyone thinks about me but you.”

She pulls him down into her again and all thoughts of Skinner and the past and everything else leave his brain. He feels like he could stay right here forever, in this perfect moment when nothing is pulling him in another direction. There are no distractions, no other places for his mind to go. Right now he’s here, on his couch, his arms wrapped around his new wife. It’s exactly where he wants to be.

She hooks her leg around one of his and rubs it a bit. Her short navy blue dress seems constricting and awkward on the couch in this position and he knows it’s coming off anyway, so he runs his hands over her body looking for the zipper.

“Where’s the zipper on this thing?” he asks, and she sits up a bit, guiding his hand around back. He finds it and and pulls it down, as she wriggles free of the dress she married him in, revealing white matching lingerie underneath.

_Dear god._

“White, Scully?” he asks huskily. “Really?”

She shrugs. “Just felt like the thing to do.”

“You realize we’ve been living in sin for years.”

“I do realize that,” she says, scrunching her face up and pinching him lightly on his shoulder. “But there was still a wedding. We still got married. There should be some white involved, I think.”

He feasts his eyes on her, having never seen her in anything like this. Scully wears her fair share of neutral shades, but never anything terribly fancy and certainly nothing virginal looking. He’s finding it incredibly erotic.

“I like it,” he whispers, as he trails kisses down the length of her neck, to her breasts. He drags a fingertip underneath the top edge of the bra, raising tiny goose pimples on her skin. She inhales sharply and begins unbuttoning his white shirt. She gets the shirt and his pants off far quicker than he expects, and her hands go immediately to his ass, squeezing it firmly, pulling him into her.

He kneels back, just looking at her. It’s the middle of the day and the sunlight is streaming through their windows, birds are singing outside, they’re married now, Scully is wearing white underwear and everything feels so wonderfully innocent.

 _Well, that’s not us,_ he thinks.

He leans back down next to her ear, and bites her earlobe as he whispers.

“Where are the cuffs?”

He can see her smile widening out of the corner of his eye. “Table by the stairs.”

He leans back to lift his brows at her a couple times, then hops down off the couch to scamper across the living room and retrieve their favorite third party.

When he returns, she’s standing next to the couch, hand extended. He plops the cuffs into her hand and she makes a circular motion with her finger, smiling, indicating he should turn around. He grins and obliges. _My turn, finally_ , he thinks.

She cuffs his hands behind his back then spins him back around to face her.

“I’m gonna be you today,” she says with determination in her voice. “And you’re gonna be me.”

“Oh, really?” he replies, tilting his head a bit. “How so?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I could be you for a little while.” She leans in to kiss him as she explains. “Always being right.” Kiss. “Always getting my way.” Kiss. She turns his head to the side and begins suckling on his earlobe, and he groans. “Looking so good my partner can’t focus or get anything done.”

“That last thing is all you,” he points out.

She smiles, reaching down into his boxers where she finds the white lingerie has already begun to do its job.

“Why, _Scully_ ,” she says to him, surprised. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this hard before.”

“I’m very confused by this game,” he admits. “But if you’re supposed to be pretending you’re me, you can’t be wearing that.”

She looks him directly in the eyes and unclasps the white bra, letting it drop to the floor. He gapes.

“Nope, still not me.”

She grins and bends down, picking up his shirt, pulling it on. The sight of his white collared shirt hanging off her near-naked body makes him twitch. It’s so big on her it hangs nearly halfway down her thighs. She goes to button it up but he shakes his head violently. “No, that’s good enough. We have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Should I put the tie on?”

He finds his head nodding and doesn’t have a damn clue why. It just sounds hot. _Fuck it, anything Scully does is hot._

She laughs and locates the tie, and he’s grateful she doesn’t attempt to actually tie it, rather just leaves it hanging around her neck. She reaches up to pull his face to hers, and he kisses her for all she’s worth, his lips the only part of his body he has any agency over. He brings his body as close to hers as he can, enjoying the feel of her naked breasts against his chest.

She walks him back to the couch and sits him down. His hands are locked behind him, digging into the couch. It occurs to him that he actually feels very vulnerable and powerless. They’ve never tried the cuffs on him this way before and for the first time he is experiencing what Scully must experience every time they do this.

He has to admit, he’s eagerly anticipating whatever she plans to do to him.

She puts her hands on his shoulders, pressing him back into the couch, and kneels down in front of him. Sliding his boxers all the way off, she positions herself between his legs and before he even has time to process any of it her mouth is sliding down his length slowly, her tongue swirling around expertly, and he sits and breathes, watching her. It’s all he can do.

“Scully…” he moans.

“Mulder,” she corrects.

“Whatever.”

He has no idea what kind of game this is anymore, but he doesn’t care. She’s so fucking good at blowing him he worries she’ll finish him off far too soon and he has absolutely no control over it. Just the thought of it is turning him on even more.

As if she’s expecting such an outcome, she pulls back slowly, her lips lingering on his tip for a moment, giving him a break. Then she goes back in, and then retreats again. She does this over and over a few times but it’s having the opposite effect she intends; every time she pulls away and looks at him he gets even closer to the edge.

“You’re killing me, Scully,” he says.

“That’s the idea,” she says, smiling. “And I’m Mulder.”

He groans again and tries to put himself in her role, tries to pretend he is her, and that she is pleasing him the way he would. When he thinks about it this way, it’s kind of fun. Suddenly he knows what he wants to do.

“I think it’s Scully’s turn to be on top,” he says. She pulls back again, confused.

“You’re right, this is confusing,” she admits.

He slides down off the couch, forcing her backwards, and finds her lips with his, spinning his own body around her and pushing her against the couch.

“Lie back on the couch, Scully,” he says. “I mean, Mulder. Fuck. I don’t get it.”

She laughs and obeys, laying back, and watches as he carefully takes the top of her panties in his teeth and slowly pulls them down her legs. After successfully completing this task and discarding them on the floor, he heads back in as she lifts her legs up over his shoulders. He can see she’s impressed with his attempted dominance even while restrained, and that even while trying to play that particular role herself today, she will always end up back where she wants to be, right here, with his head between her legs.

He’s fine with that. It’s exactly where he wants to be, too.

He’s used to being able to use his fingers on her simultaneously and obviously can’t, so he makes his tongue work that much harder. He feels her calves squeezing against his shoulder blades as she gasps. He hopes he’s as good at this now as he usually seems to be, but he quickly realizes that, to her, the idea of him doing this while restrained is most likely only adding to her arousal. He slides his tongue up and down, tasting her, driving her wild, and just when he thinks he’s doing everything he possibly can, he uses his teeth, nipping gently at her clit, and she screams out his name, _his_ name, _Mulder_ , his favorite sound in the world, as she grabs his hair and comes hard into his face.

 _So much for this role reversal,_ he grins. He’s just fine being Mulder again.

She pulls him up on top of her and he rests his body on hers, as her hands go to his, behind his back. She plays with his fingers for a bit, then reaches behind her to grab the key from the table and unlocks him, but only unlocks one hand.

She kisses him, and he can taste himself and herself and the way they are tangled up together on the couch makes him think of them as one unit, a team, the perfect team they’ve always been.

She must be thinking the same thing because she suddenly sits up, holding him by the waist, switching their positions so he is on his back, his head against the arm rest. She holds his cuffed hand, stretching it down behind him to the floor, wraps the cuff around the couch leg and cuffs her own right hand to his. Both their arms are now restrained downward along the edge of the couch, their bodies as close together as they can possibly be. She reaches behind his head and drops the key onto the table.

“Let’s do this together,” she says, her face so close to his she’s speaking directly into his mouth. With his free hand he grabs the back of her head and pulls her mouth to his, hard. He sucks as she bites, pushing and pulling, and he’s certain they are bruising each other’s lips but neither of them care. Her free hand claws at his scalp, scratching and yanking at his hair.

He is so hard he can feel himself about to explode. She couldn’t move off of him if she tried and he now completely understands why this restraint stuff turns her on so much. They are physically locked together with no other choice but to stay that way.

Mercifully, he can feel her fingers wrapping around him, rock hard, and she shifts up and over him the best she can and he practically sobs at the sweet relief of her wet heat sliding down onto him.

“God… _Scully_ …” he moans as she gets as comfortable as possible with their wrists cuffed to the couch leg. His arm is practically numb but he can feel the cuff digging into his wrist. It hurts and it’s unbelievably hot all at once.

“ _Fuck_ …”

Typically when Scully is on top he can look up at her to see her body moving, the curve from her ass to her ribcage, her breasts bouncing in his face, her jaw slack with pleasure. It’s his favorite sight. But today, she can’t sit up; she can only hold her face next to his, so tightly are they stuck together.

She places her free hand on his cheek, rubbing his face, laying her cheek next to his as she rocks on top of him the best she can. Her breasts are smashed against his neck and the friction is maddening.

He doesn’t know what to do with his only free hand so he reaches underneath his own white wedding shirt that she’s wearing and grabs onto her ass, pulling her into him, meeting her thrusting. He suddenly realizes she’s the one fucking him senseless, not the other way around. He likes it, a lot. The couch is moving violently, bumping up against the table.

“Scully…”

He’s out of his mind with euphoria, and he hopes he can form words. “Can’t… feel my hand…”

She silences him with her mouth, assaulting his tongue with her own, and her own cuffed hand seeks his below them, finding it as it always does, interlocking their fingers together.

“Can you feel that?” She moves her mouth around to whisper into his ear.

He nods.

“Can you feel me, Mulder?”

He nods.

All he can hear is her soft breathing in his ear, panting and whispering “Mulderrrr…” and her fingers squeeze his, and the cuffs clank against the leg of the couch and then he’s coming so hard he worries he might actually be hurting her.

If he is, she likes it.

She screams out his name again, and as her hand grasps his tightly her other hand scratches the side of his face and she comes right back into him, collapsing onto his chest, breathing heavily.

His wrist hurts like hell and he can’t feel his arm but he can feel her fingers wrapped around his own, and it grounds him; she’s always his port in the storm. Her head rests against his chin and he kisses her hair.

“I like married life so far,” he says after a minute.

She laughs, then catches her breath. He can feel sweat running down his face and knows she must be sweating, too.

“I’m impressed with how well you can… perform with those,” she notes.

“Speaking of, my wrist hurts like hell. Are you gonna get us out of these, or what?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I think I could stay just like this for a while.”

They do, but after a couple minutes she gives his bottom lip a hard nip, then with a smile leans up to reach for the key on the table behind him. As she does he feels himself sliding out of her and gives her ass a little squeeze but then he feels her stop moving abruptly.

“Oh, _shit_.”

“What?” he asks.

She sits back onto his lap as best she can, her face inches from his. He can’t help but look down and notice her naked breasts peeking out from under his own shirt and tie and takes a second to commit the image to his memory.

“The key, it’s… I can’t reach it.”

“Funny.”

“Mulder! I’m serious!” There’s a hint of panic in her voice and he twists his head back to look. The table next to the couch had tipped over, most likely as a result of their activities, and the key had fallen off and slid across the floor. It’s at least ten feet away.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she says.

She sounds so panicked now he almost wants to laugh; the mere idea of being this much out of control is abhorrent to Scully.

“Calm down, Scully,” he says. He wants to grab her face to make her look at him but his hand, as well as hers, is out of commission. He takes his one free hand and tries to calm her down by touching her cheek.

“Okay. So.” He’s at a loss. “I guess... we drag the couch over?”

“Damnit, Mulder, that will scratch up the floor.”

He laughs. “Well, what’s your plan, then? Starve to death?”

She sighs heavily and collapses on his chest again, the situation so ludicrous she has to laugh. Soon they are both laughing so hard, peals of laughter are bouncing around the house. They’ve been so careful with the cuffs all these years, taken so many precautions, they’ve never encountered a problem like this before.

“I don’t even know what to say, Mulder. This was a rookie mistake. I guess I got carried away.”

“Well, _I’m_ glad you did.”

She sighs and is quiet, seemingly thinking of a solution.

“We’d better think of something,” he says suddenly, remembering. “Skinner’s coming over.”

Scully’s jaw drops. “Mulder. You said he was coming by _later_.”

“Well, Scully, every passing moment could technically be classified as “later.” According to quantum mechanics and general relativity-”

“Mulder! Shut up! Come on, we’re gonna scratch up the fucking floor!” She’s in full-blown panic mode now, and she’s flinging a leg over the side of the couch, trying to get down. Without his cooperation, it’s difficult.

“Can you at least hand me my shorts?” he asks, chuckling in spite of himself.

“No, I can’t reach them. Mulder, come on, help.” She isn’t amused and he isn’t surprised.

He takes his free hand and slaps her on the ass. “Calm down, relax. It’s gonna be fine.”

“No, it’s not, we need to get the key.”

“What’s your rush? We could always just have sex again.”

Suddenly they hear steps approaching on the porch, and it’s as if her worst nightmare had been verbalized into existence. Scully looks down at him in horror as they realize their commotion must have prevented them from hearing the arrival of a vehicle outside.

As if they could have done a thing about it.

“Hello?”

The _extremely_ unwelcome voice of Walter Skinner comes bellowing into the house, and before they have any time to prepare for it he peers through the screen door, taking in the sight before him. Scully, straddling Mulder in only his white collared shirt and tie, him completely naked, their hands cuffed to the bottom of the couch. Mulder squeezes his eyes shut.

_Oh my god._

“Whoa! What the…!” Skinner quickly turns around, but the damage is done.

Mulder reaches up to the back of the couch, thanking the god he doesn’t believe in that there is a blanket there. Scully is mostly covered but he can tell she’s still mortified. He pulls the blanket over them and she buries her face into his neck, pulling the blanket over her completely.

“Oh my goddddd…” her muffled voice comes.

“I’m just… going to come back later,” Skinner says, and turns to go.

“No, wait!” Mulder yells.

Scully looks up from under his neck. “What the fuck, Mulder?” she hisses.

“If you don’t want to scratch up the floors, or starve to death, he’s our only other option, Scully,” he hisses back. “Besides, he’s already seen us. We are never coming back from this.”

She drops her head again in defeat, knowing he’s right.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m going to die of embarrassment anyway so go ahead.”

“Uh…hey... Walter?” Mulder calls, a bit hesitantly.

“Yes?” he responds gruffly, still outside, still facing the other direction. Mulder can see he’s carrying a present.

“We need... your help, please. We seem to have… gotten into a little situation here.” His only choice is to get through this as quickly as possible.

“I can see that.”

“Could you maybe just… get the key for us? It’s back there…” he gestures behind him as well as he possibly can. Skinner turns around and looks Mulder right in the eye from across the room behind a screen door. He does not look pleased.

“Pretty please?” Mulder adds. Scully doesn’t say a word, her entire body obscured underneath the blanket, an ostrich in the sand, only her arm and cuffed wrist visible.

Skinner sighs, holding his hand up to his face to block his view of the two of them, and pushes the screen door open. He sets the gift on a table, crosses the room, looking around until he spots the key. Without a word he kneels down and unlocks the cuffs.

Scully immediately withdraws her hand and retreats underneath the blanket once again. Mulder brings both hands to her head and pats it through the blanket.

“Thanks, man,” he says as casually as possible.

Skinner immediately walks back onto the porch. He’s silent for a moment, then Mulder hears him. “I’m going to sit out here until you’re ready to let me in, and we will never, _ever_ speak of this again.”

“Fine by me,” Scully whispers. Mulder smacks her on the ass one more time.

“Okay, Scully, this horror show is over. Go upstairs, he’s outside.”

She gets up, wraps the blanket around her and darts up the stairs. Mulder is left sitting on the couch stark naked. He laughs at the ridiculousness of this entire situation then gets up and follows her, picking up their clothes on his way.

 

***

 

_OhmyfuckingGod._

She’s been sitting upstairs for at least twenty minutes, clothes on, locked in the bathroom. Maybe if she waits long enough Skinner will leave.

She can hear chatter downstairs and assumes Mulder has cleared up whatever needs to be cleared up and is moving on with life but _how will she ever look AD Walter Sergei Skinner in the face again?_

Before too long, Mulder is knocking on the bathroom door.

“Come on, Scully, it’s fine. Just come down.”

“I am never coming out again. Please call the hospital and tell them I’ve quit.”

He laughs and drops his voice. “I promise you, Scully, he was more embarrassed than we were.”

“I sincerely doubt that, Mulder.”

“Honey,” she hears, and knows he’s serious. “Please. I promise you’re making it worse.”

She knows he’s right, goddamnit. She gets up and opens the door to find his face right there, grinning like an idiot.

“This isn’t funny, Mulder, it’s horrifying.”

He nods. “I agree, but even the most horrifying things can still be funny, don’t you think?”

She sighs. Mulder always tries to make light of any potentially horrifying situation. When they would work a case, she’d typically been grateful for it. She steps out of the bathroom and gets in his face. “ _What did you say to him?_ ” she hisses.

Mulder shrugs. “Nothing, Scully. He’s a big boy, he gets it. Birds and the bees and all that.”

“Yes, but… _the handcuffs_ ,” she whispers. She can feel her cheeks flushing with humiliation.

“Everybody’s got their something, Scully, and he just happens to know ours now.”

She bites her lip, eyes darting to the door.

“Scully.” He eyes her meaningfully and drops his voice again. “We found out about him and the prostitute, remember? We all moved on from that. We will move on from this, too.”

She nods. She had actually completely forgotten about that. Maybe moving on will be possible after all.

“Okay.”

He takes her hand and leads her out the bedroom and down the stairs, where she sees Skinner in the living room, standing awkwardly in the kitchen.

“Congratulations, Dana, on the wedding,” he offers. He doesn’t make eye contact with her but she appreciates his effort to blow the fuck past this.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You want something to drink, Walter?” Mulder calls as he heads into the kitchen. “Beer?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Skinner replies.

“Scully?” Mulder asks.

“I’m fine.” Scully gestures towards the couch, addressing Skinner. “You want to sit down?”

“Um… yeah.” He sits in an easy chair closer to the kitchen, far, far from the couch. Scully grimaces in realization.

“What brings you out to Farr’s Corner, sir?” she asks as she sits on their defiled couch.

He holds his hands up. “No ‘sir,’ please, I’m not your boss anymore.”

“Sorry,” she says. “Old habits, I guess.”

“Mulder called me this morning and said you two were getting married. I just… wanted to be here. It felt like something I needed to do. And I brought you something.”

He gets up out of the chair and picks up the wrapped present that he’d set on the table, walking it over to her, just as Mulder returns with the beers.

He hands one to Skinner and sits down on the couch next to Scully as she unties the bow and begins to unwrap it. She opens the tissue paper and looks inside.

There, nestled in some tissue, is a beautiful plaque that states _Director’s Award for Excellence, Presented to Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, for_ _Outstanding Contributions and Exceptional Service to the FBI and its Mission._ In smaller words beneath this, it reads _The X Files_ and underneath that are the names of Walter S. Skinner and Alvin Kersh.

_Kersh?_

“Holy shit,” Mulder breathes, looking at the award in awe.

“It’s at least a decade too late, I know,” Skinner says. “But you two deserve it. Kersh and I pushed really hard for this after you were both officially cleared of all charges. He always knew they were bogus and the Bureau would just as soon forget about the two of you.”

“Kersh?” Scully asks incredulously. “Vouched for us? Really?”

Skinner nods. “I think he likes you both a whole lot better now that you’re gone,” he says. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Mulder says dryly.

“Every time some weird case lands on his desk I can see that look in his eye. He appreciated you both being there, whether he’d admit it or not. After that happened enough times, we both agreed this commendation was long overdue. It may not mean much anymore, but…” he trails off.

“It means a lot,” Scully says. “Truly. Thank you.”

Mulder nods. “It’s nice to be acknowledged, after all these years. Makes me feel like what we did meant something, anything.”

“It did. You should both know that.”

For a minute they all just smile and nod at each other, knowing there isn’t much more to be said. Skinner sips his beer and sits back down on the easy chair across from them as Scully puts the plaque back into the box.

She looks at Mulder, her eyes soft, and he winks. Skinner had inadvertently found a great distraction from Handcuffgate and she’s touched by the gift in spite of everything.

“So,” Mulder says, grinning. “Weird cases? Tell us more.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you’ll never watch Skinner unlock our dynamic duo in “This” the same way ever again.


	26. First Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He approaches her, grinning, and holds her by the shoulders. “So… that present I said I had for you back at the house?”
> 
> “...Yeah…?” she narrows her eyes, looking at him suspiciously.
> 
> “It’s me.”
> 
> The corners of her mouth turn up into a smile, then a full toothy grin.
> 
> “Sounds perfect,” she says, draping her arms around his neck.

 

 

**(June 2009)**

 

“Cheers, Scully.” Mulder holds up his champagne and she smiles, clinking his glass.

“Happy anniversary, Mulder,” she says, taking a sip. “One whole year.”

“More like sixteen or so,” he chuckles.

They sit together in a fancy downtown D.C. restaurant. It’s been about a year since his charges were officially dropped by the FBI, a year since they got married. A wonderful year. An almost unbelievably good year, considering everything they’ve been through.

Things have settled down and everything feels… well, kind of boring. _But in a very good way,_ he thinks. He’s grateful for the monotony, the routine. He’s needed this to keep him distracted from the things he’d normally think about, the things he’d typically let steal his focus. It’s nice having something simple and normal. He didn’t picture it much before he met her, but he likes it, here and now. He truly does.

“What are you thinking?” she asks. She must have noticed the faraway look in his eyes.

He hesitates, his eyes darting around the restaurant. There are dozens of other couples around, probably celebrating various birthdays and anniversaries and Saturdays. They probably have families at home, kids, normal jobs and the like. All the things they can’t really do, all the things they can’t really be, as much as they’d like to. As much as he’d like to be, for her.

The truth is, he’s thinking about their son; where he is, what he’s doing. He wonders if she’s thinking about him, too.

Ever since he held that baby, he’s longed to have that feeling back again. The love and comfort he’d experienced with the two of them in those precious hours kept him going all those months without her: the expectation of being a father again. When he learned what happened with William, he’d been devastated, but mostly for Scully. Her pain had been his primary concern at the time and he hadn’t wanted to upset her.

Now, with the luxury of a bit of distance from the whole thing, he’s started to allow himself to dream again. He wishes he could have a family with her, the family they never got to have, the family they never got to keep. _Twice_.

He can’t share these dreams with her, though. Besides the obvious obstacle that her getting pregnant is less likely than even he’d be willing to entertain, he worries bringing up the topic would be too painful for her. They don't talk about it, and Mulder is well aware that, as usual with the two of them, the further they get from a topic the less likely they are to discuss it at all. It’s the way they’ve always operated.

Not to mention all the end-of-the-world stuff he’s trying hard not to think about.

There are too many reasons not to talk about it. So he says something else.

“I’m thinking about you,” he says. “And me. How far we’ve come. And how strange this all still feels.”

“Strange… good?” she asks.

“Of course,” he assures her. “Strange wonderful.”

She smiles. He looks at her across the table in her black dress with the skinny straps and the pearl earrings he got her years ago. It makes him happy to see she still wears them.

“Strange because you’ve been so many things to me, it’s hard to keep track,” he explains.

“And what have you landed on?” she asks.

“You know, no matter what label society wants to put on us, I’ll always think of you as my partner, Scully. First and foremost.”

“I hate to break it to you, Mulder, but we put that label on ourselves when we walked into that courthouse.”

“I know, I know. And I love that label, too.” He really does. It gives him a secret thrill to be able to call her his wife. That wherever they go, no one has to wonder what they are to each other anymore. “I just mean… I still honor that part of us, Scully. The ‘partners’ part. Where I’m yours and you’re mine, and we are equals. Through and through.”

She nods. “I know what you mean. Feels like we’ll always be partners, first and foremost.”

He smiles at her. “However, nothing I just said will prevent me from telling you how fucking fantastic you look tonight, and how it’s making me want to do all kinds of filthy things to you.”

“I’m counting on it,” she laughs, her eyes narrowing. Then she turns and pulls an envelope out of her coat, which is hanging on her chair. She lays it on the table in front of him.

“This is actually the perfect time to give this to you, I think,” she says. “I got this months ago but decided to wait to give it to you until tonight. Since first anniversary is ‘paper,’ apparently.”

He grins. “Paper, is it? Because I’m pretty sure I got you something a little more… oral.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

“It’s back at home. I’ll give it to you later,” he grins.

“Ah,” she smirks. “You never have been the traditional type.”

He opens the envelope and pulls out a packet. He isn’t expecting what he sees at all. It’s the deed to their house, with both their names on it.

“Now that you’re a free man again, I figured you deserve to feel like one. The house is yours as much as it is mine and I wanted to make it official.”

He looks up at her, touched. Buying the house together had been something they’d discussed at length. Mulder wanted to buy it; he had plenty of money from his late mother’s estate in an offshore account he’d hidden away before he ever left Scully’s Georgetown apartment. Knowing he couldn’t bring in any real income for who knew how long, he’d wanted to do this for her; for them.

But for Scully, it was a matter of principle. They’d always been equal partners, she’d argued, and he wanted to respect that. So they’d split the cost and paid cash up front.

When she purchased the house, only her name could be on the title for obvious reasons. The idea that she’s rectified this without him even bringing it up makes him love her even more. He didn’t realize this was important, he hasn’t really thought about it. But Scully has.

She always thinks of everything.

“Thanks, Scully,” he says, taking her hand across the table. He looks into her eyes for a moment and nods in appreciation.

“So,” she says, drinking her champagne. “Oral, huh?”

His eyebrows dart up and down. “Among other things.”

She sets her glass down and opens her menu abruptly. “Then let’s get to ordering, partner.”

 

***

 

It’s late, but for the two of them, the night is still young. The little unremarkable house that now has both their names on the title is as welcoming as ever, and he pulls her by the hand up the stairs.

He lights a few candles and turns off most of the lights, doing his best to create some atmosphere. He tries to be good at this romance stuff, he really tries.

“Mulder!” she says in surprise as she stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “I didn’t even think you knew where we kept the candles.”

He approaches her, grinning, and holds her by the shoulders. “So… that present I said I had for you back at the house?”

“...Yeah…?” she narrows her eyes, looking at him suspiciously.

“It’s me.”

The corners of her mouth turn up into a smile, then a full toothy grin.

“Sounds perfect,” she says, draping her arms around his neck.

He reaches around her back to unzip her dress. He does it slowly, never tearing his eyes away from hers. He pulls the dress up over her head to see she’s fully prepared for this evening, a black bra and… _sweet Jesus…is that a thong?_

She smiles, seeing his eyes bulge and he spins her around slowly to verify his suspicions.

His thoughts drift over the past couple hours, thinking of her wearing this underneath her dress all night, and he can feel himself hardening.

“You’re killing me, Scully.”

She turns back around almost shyly, which is odd for a woman who handcuffed him to their bed just last weekend. But it’s not something she typically wears, and he knows she put it on for him.

He grins and leans in for a kiss, again, slowly and gently. He pulls back just a bit.

“I want to make tonight about you, okay? We’re gonna do whatever you want.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t get you something made of paper and now I’m feeling kind of bad,” he says, kissing her lightly on her neck.

“Hmm… well, I don’t feel kind of bad. At all,” she replies. “Actually… I’m feeling really, really good.”

Her hands rub up and down his back, and she pulls his jacket off, undressing him down to his boxers as his lips move along her neck. He unhooks and removes her bra but leaves the thong on, for now. She wore it for him. He _is_ still a man, after all.

He holds his forehead to hers. “What do you want tonight, Scully?”

She looks thoughtful. “Well, my shoulders have been really tense since yesterday. Eight-hour surgery. I could use a massage.”

He grins and spins her around again, walking her to the bed, and she lays face down. Her ass looks so perfect in the thong and his painful hard-on makes him immediately regret his decision to leave it on, but he pushes ahead anyway, straddling her thighs. However he’s feeling, he wants to make her feel good tonight.

His hands go to her shoulders and he begins to knead the tension out of them, slowly and firmly.

“Oh my goddddddd… Mulderrrrr…” she moans, and he knows she’s reacting to the massage but it sounds exactly like her sex noises and he feels himself straining uncomfortably inside his boxers. He continues for several minutes, moving down her spine, to her lower back, and as his hands delicately move to the curve of her ass, she continues to make the noises which continue to make him even harder.

“Scully, cut that out,” he laughs. “You’re making sex noises.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she mumbles into the comforter.

“You’re turning me on and this is supposed to be about you.”

“But I love turning you on,” she reasons. He moves off her.

“Turn over, okay?”

She does, and he gazes at her in the candlelight as she reclines on their bed, awaiting whatever he has planned.

“Close your eyes.”

She does, and he leans forward to continue his ministrations. He starts with her wrists and works his way up her arms, then along her pectorals and down her chest. As he palms and rubs her breasts, she arches her back and gasps. He makes circular motions with his thumbs and as he does so her nipples rise into hardened peaks. One of her hands grips his wrist firmly.

“Mulder,” she whispers, her eyes still closed. “Enough massaging. Touch me.”

Her hands find his and she guides him down below. He dips his fingers inside the thong to find her incredibly wet, and he knows he promised her an oral present but decides now is most definitely the time to bring out his final surprise of the evening.

Reaching over her to the nightstand, he tells her to keep her eyes closed. He opens the drawer and pulls out a tiny hot pink vibrator. He switches it on, surprised at how quiet it is, and gently presses it where he knows she’d want it.

Her eyes fly open and she inhales sharply.

“Mulder!”

“How’s that?” he asks, and she leans up to see what exactly he’s working with. Taking his hand in hers, she guides the device exactly where she wants it.

“There.”

He sees a change in her expression and he feels himself responding to this, to her, seeing how she would please herself with this new toy.

She lays back, smiling, and giggles a bit at first. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the sensations she’s feeling or because of the situation itself but soon enough it doesn’t matter because she’s making all the noises he wants to hear. Her back arches wildly and her toes curl as she grinds into his hand. Her expression is contorted with the pleasure he doesn’t typically get to see with his own eyes, either buried down between her thighs himself or too distracted by his own pleasure. As he watches her face he realizes it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Mulder… I’m… I’m…” she says, and he starts nodding violently, even though she can’t see him.

“Go for it, honey,” he says, watching her intently. She reaches blindly for him, finding his face and pulling it close to hers, and he watches the full spectrum of her orgasm manifest upon her face. The human body is truly a marvelous thing. If he were scientifically minded like Scully, he couldn’t be more fascinated or delighted.

She smiles and opens her eyes, cerulean blue, and he kisses her again. He would do anything, anything she asked.

“Let me see that thing,” she says, breathing heavily. He switches it off and hands it to her, and she turns it over in her hand.

“Look at that,” she smiles. “I guess all I needed was a little something after all.”

He laughs as he slides off the bed and scoops her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She drops the vibe onto the bed and holds onto his torso as he crosses over to the bathroom. She’s so light he feels like he could carry her with him everywhere. And he would if he could.

He reaches the bathtub and turns on the faucet.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m drawing you a bath.”

She dangles over his shoulder and sighs. “Mulder, you’ve done enough.”

“No way. A vibrator isn’t nearly as good as the deed to our house.”

“Mmm, I dunno, Mulder. Both are gifts that keep on giving.”

He chuckles as he feels her wrap her arms around his stomach, her hand brushing his raging hard-on.

“If tonight is truly about me, we get to do what I want, and I want you inside me as soon as possible.”

He sets her down in front of him and her eyes dart down to his erection. He can feel himself reaching for her in need, and she responds, reaching into his shorts, taking him into her hand, eyebrow soaring to the ceiling above an electric smile. He’s not going to argue.

“Okay.”

He presses her against the bathroom wall, kissing her fiercely. His tongue slides along her bottom lip and pulls it into his mouth like a lollipop, sucking with vigor. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Her hands go into his hair and she pulls his body against hers, and he can feel his hardness so close to where it wants to be it’s painful. Her hands move to his ass and she squeezes, hard, pulling him into her.

“How do you want it, Scully?” he asks throatily into her ear. He pulls back to see her lips are swollen and her eyes are flushed with arousal, her long crimson hair is falling into her face. She’s never looked more beautiful.

She spins around to face the wall, rising up onto her tiptoes to attempt to accommodate his height. She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, wanton and waiting. She’s still wearing the thong and even though he feels like he may explode he kneels down anyway, tracing her perfect porcelain skin delicately, kissing all over as she flattens herself against the wall.

Pulling aside the fabric, he inserts a long finger into her slowly, deeply, her walls so wet he’s disappointed he won’t have time to put his tongue inside her. She’s getting what she wants tonight, he’s promised her. So he stands up and, leaving the thong on, replaces his finger with his aching dick, sliding it in as deeply as possible.

“Oh my _goddddd…”_ she cries out as she rolls up onto the balls of her feet. He bends his knees so she doesn’t have to work so hard and thrusts into her, taking her hands up above her head and holding them firmly against the wall with one hand, wrapping his other around her stomach.

He pushes in and out of her over and over again, and the friction of the little piece of fabric that’s been driving him crazy all evening finally gets its revenge, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. As she moans and bucks beneath him, the water slowly fills the bathtub beside them, creeping further and further up.

“Fuck... the tub,” she whimpers, and he sees the water is about to spill over the top. He doesn't care.

“Exactly. Fuck the tub.”

He pounds away and she’s screaming and swearing and he loves, loves, loves when she goes outside of herself this way. The restraint may be her kink, but Scully letting loose is definitely his.

He can feel himself about to come and just as he hopes she’s close too, her walls clench tightly around him, pulling his own orgasm out of him.

She relaxes against the cold wall and he falls into her, his hand still over her stomach, rubbing gently. She twists her head back and he finds her lips again, taking them into his, floating back down to earth. Withdrawing himself from her slowly, she closes her legs and slides down the wall a bit.

He knows she hates messes, so he reaches over and turns the faucet off, opening the drain to let some of the water out.

He runs to get some towels and when he returns she is already in the tub, head back, eyes closed. He mops up the floor while she watches, and when he finishes she sits up a bit, indicating she wants him to get in behind her.

“Scully, how many times do I have to tell you, tonight is about _you_.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And how many times do I have to tell _you_ that I want you with me?”

He smiles and slides into the hot water behind her. She sighs contentedly and leans into him.

“By the way, I think I threw out my back. I’m going to need another massage.”

  


***

 

Her eyes flutter open. It's still the middle of the night, and she instinctively reaches her arm across the bed to touch him but he isn't here. Flipping onto her side she sees the bed has been vacated.

She sits up and can tell he isn't in the bathroom. Confused, she throws the sheet off her, pulls on her silk robe and heads downstairs to look for him.

He's nowhere in sight, and just when she thinks she may panic she hears the familiar creak of the porch swing outside. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she opens the door to join him. He's looking out across their front yard and turns his head to smile at her.

”Hey,” she says gently. ”Care for some company?”

”Always,” he says, scooting over for her. She sits on the swing next to him and he pulls her in close. They sit quietly for a few minutes, just swinging and breathing.

“You scared me for a minute.”

“Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

”Couldn't sleep?”

He shakes his head. ”Just wanted to come out here. Look at the stars. Do some thinking.”

”You can do all those things from our bed, you know,” she points out. He chuckles.

“I do know. But it’s nice out tonight.” He’s right, the nighttime June air is warm and still. She snuggles into him.

“I can leave you alone, if you want.”

“Never,” he says. “I’ll never want that.”

She sighs and sits in silence with him, her head on his shoulder, his fingers rubbing her arm gently. She wonders what he’s thinking about.

“You make me so happy, Mulder,” she confesses. “I hope you know that.”

He leans over and kisses her forehead in response. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be, Scully. Than I ever thought I deserved.”

She knows he still struggles with this; this pervasive idea that he’s in some way deficient, that he doesn’t deserve happiness. She wonders sometimes if that’s why he behaves the way he does. Why he looks into the darkness, why he wrapped himself up in such a pursuit in the first place. Why he always preferred sleeping on his couch, at least until he had a reason to sleep in a bed. She doesn’t know how many times she can tell him his fears are unfounded for him to believe he’s worthy of her. He just has to believe it himself.

Truth is, she feels unworthy of him herself sometimes. She feels it whenever she thinks of William. They are still missing something because of a decision _she_ had to make. They are together, but still somehow experiencing loneliness. She knows it’s because they aren’t sharing their loneliness with each other.

The darkness she’s truly afraid of is the dark they are keeping each other in. She can feel it there, the chasm, and she thinks if she can just not look at it, if she can just look across it into his eyes they won’t have to deal with it.

But it’s still there, and she knows it.

She’s dying to ask him if he thinks about trying to have more children, even though she knows it’s impossible. She wants to know how he feels about their future together. He hasn’t made any efforts to find work, not really. And while he doesn’t need to for financial reasons, she is quite certain he needs it for his own mental stability.

She can’t tell him this, she can’t tell him she worries about him. She doesn’t want to. They’ve struggled for so long, she doesn’t want to face these things. She truly is happy right now, and risking that isn’t something she’s prepared to do.

She folds her legs underneath her and wraps her arm across his stomach, closing her eyes, breathing him in. He does the same, holding onto her, just the two of them.

Happiness is all she wants, it’s all she needs. So she will reach for it, hold onto it. Even if she has to stay in the dark to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to The X Files, #ScullysFriend!


	27. First Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lying here with him in the moonlight, she looks into his eyes and suddenly she understands. She doesn’t believe, and he does. He’s believed this for years with such certainty that it’s colored his every decision, his every thought, ever since he’s learned it. He believes it’s the truth with as much conviction that she believes it isn’t. This has been the heart of their dynamic for so long, it never occurred to her it’s the very thing that might destroy them.

 

 

**(December 21, 2012)**

 

It’s just a room at the end of the upstairs hallway. The door remains closed. If it ever opens, Scully doesn’t know about it; it’s full of Mulder’s old paraphernalia from his old apartment, from his old life. Bits and pieces of him she will never know about.

That isn’t the reason she never goes in there, though. This room has power; over her, over him. Ironically, the room that’s full of the most stuff in their entire house represents the one thing that remains unspoken between them.

Emptiness.

It’s the room they both know would have been their son’s.

She thinks about William every single day. Agent Doggett had been right; the sense of loss never really goes away. Her heart feels like a sink with an open drain, and try as she might, it will never stay full.

And she does try. She fills it with work, she fills it with Mulder. She fills it with the people and things she still has that matter in her life. These are all she has anymore, and she wants it to be enough. She prays for it to be enough. But just like the truth Mulder eternally seeks, something will always be missing in her life, and she knows it; she can feel it. Just as Mulder has his, this is her impossible pursuit.

She wonders how he feels about this loss. They haven’t talked about it, _really_ talked about it, even though she knows they should. William’s name passes in and out of their existence only occasionally; just one more thing they’ve survived, just one more thing she continues to survive. The list of such things in their lives is seemingly endless.

The room is a symbol of the things they do not speak of, the things that remain unsaid. A sign that it will all come to a head one day, a looming deadline in their future, like so many these days. She hates that they can’t seem to discuss the things that pain them the most, but she’s come to the conclusion that they actively avoid these topics because it’s all just too much to bear.

After so many hardships, they’ve done their very best for years to focus on the good. They’ve reached for the light, and stayed away from the darkness, for the most part. The past few years have been as wonderful as she could possibly have expected. They’ve been so happy, so content.

But just as Mulder had predicted, the darkness has found them once again. She doesn’t know how to keep it away; she wishes she could, desperately. But one way or another it pushes its way in between them, driving a wedge that she cannot remove.

The past few months have been concerning, and she’s beginning to feel him slipping away from her. The colonization date troubles him, and as every day brings them closer and closer to the potential end of humanity, Mulder buries himself deeper and deeper in his work. What work, exactly, she couldn’t say. To be honest, she doesn’t want to know. It seems like he is up to his old tricks again, falling down his particular rabbit hole, and she’s powerless, just watching it happen.

One thing is for sure: it scares her. She’s more afraid of what’s happening to him than she’s ever been of any alien colonization.

They haven’t discussed what may or may not happen, and this date, tonight’s date, has just sat there in front of them, a boulder in the road, a huge monolith blocking their way. Yet another elephant in the room.

Their house is absolutely full of elephants.

For Mulder, she suspects tonight’s date is the biggest one. But to her, it’s their son. She knows William mattered to Mulder, of course he did. But she’ll never know how much. She’ll never know if Mulder secretly resents her for giving him up. She’ll never know if he’s ever truly forgiven her for giving away his only chance to be a parent.

She’ll never know because of that damned closed door at the end of the hall.

She’s too afraid to open it.

 

***

 

It’s drawing nearer to midnight and he takes her by the hand, leading her upstairs. They both know what they’re waiting for, anticipating, but neither are saying it out loud. Midnight, for some reason, feels important.

They crawl onto their bed and look up at the sky through the skylight. As they hold each other she can feel him shaking, but she is not. Her breath in his ear is calm and still.

“Aren’t you scared, Scully?” he asks quietly.

She’s isn’t sure what to say. She isn’t afraid, but she feels like maybe she should be. Maybe he thinks she should be. She wants to give him what he wants, but she doesn’t want to lie.

The silence goes on for an extended beat, and then he sits up, facing her.

“You don’t believe anything is going to happen tonight, do you?” he says.

 _There it is._ The truth.

“Mulder, I don’t know what’s going to happen. No one does,” she says with a hint of exasperation.

“That’s not what I asked.”

She sighs. “I don’t know.”

He looks at her for a moment and she doesn’t like what she sees. It’s a look she hasn’t really seen in years, not since their early days together on the X files. He flops back onto the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t believe this,” he says. “All these years under our belt and we still can’t get on the same page.”

She’s speechless. “...Mulder-”

“Not even this, Scully? I’ve never been more certain about anything and still… you don’t believe it. You never believed it.”

He holds his face in his hands. She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. Maybe he doesn’t realize how defeatist this attitude is. Maybe he isn’t aware of the implications of what he’s saying, how much this hurts her. Is it even possible he could be so oblivious? _It wouldn’t be the first time,_ she admits to herself.

She thinks of him sitting alone in that jail cell, tight-lipped and stubborn as ever, withholding the information that would save his own life so as not to jeopardize his work.

_I know what you want and I can’t give it to you._

_This is bigger than you or me._

_I’d rather die._

Her eyes dart around the room, searching its corners for the right thing to say.

“Mulder, why are you so upset? I don’t understand.”

She truly doesn’t. Even now, minutes from midnight, she isn’t sure what she believes. But why would he want her to believe the world was coming to an end? Why would he want her to believe their time together is over? Whatever happened to “maybe there’s hope?”

Where is _that_ Mulder?

He lays there in the dark, eyes closed, and takes a deep breath.

“I guess I just thought that… all these years, it was you and me against the world. That we knew this was happening and pushed ahead anyway. The two of us, together.”

She’s quiet for a moment and is suddenly gripped by a sick churning deep in her stomach. Is this why he asked her to marry him? Because he figured it would all be over in a few years anyway?

She hates herself for even entertaining this possibility. It’s not like him, not really. Mulder isn’t the non-committal type, in fact, he’s quite the opposite. But all these years she tried her hardest not to think about the potential end of their time together. She can’t help but feel deeply hurt that it’s apparently all he thought about.

She sympathizes with him, to be sure. She knows the unease of having a profound belief in something she doesn’t understand. She’s felt it ever since she was a little girl and the priest told her to place a wafer on her tongue, to believe it was the body of Christ. It didn’t occur to her how ridiculous it was, so ingrained was this belief, until many years later. It was _so_ ingrained that even now, today, she can’t explain the pull she still feels towards her faith.

His faith lies elsewhere but the pull is just as strong. It’s so strong he’s placed his faith in this above everything, even above her. And faced with this right now, knowing how firm his belief is, she’s never wanted to disagree with him more. She wants him to be wrong more than she ever has.

Lying here with him in the moonlight, she looks into his eyes and suddenly she understands. She doesn’t believe, and he does. He’s believed this for years with such certainty that it’s colored his every decision, his every thought, ever since he’s learned it. He believes it’s the truth with as much conviction that she believes it isn’t. This has been the heart of their dynamic for so long, it never occurred to her it’s the very thing that might destroy them.

“Fine, I don’t believe it, Mulder. I don’t believe it because I don’t want to.”

She doesn’t believe the world will be ending tonight. She doesn’t believe she will never make love with him again. She doesn’t believe she won’t look into his eyes forever because she can’t believe it; she won’t.

She doesn’t want to believe.

_So why does he?_

Her stomach swirls with discomfort and she feels like she might throw up.

He _wants_ the colonization to occur, of course he does. How has she been so blind? It’s vindication of everything he’s worked for, searched for. It’s the validation he’s sought so desperately his entire life.

He wants it, even if it means the end of this, the end of them.

How can she compete with that?

She wants to cry, to rage, to walk away forever but she doesn’t. She can’t think anymore, she doesn’t want to. She can only feel. Suddenly her lips are on his, her fingers behind his head, scratching at his scalp.

She thinks of every case that ever stole his focus. Every conspiracy he chased, leaving her behind, or in the dark. Every bee or EBE or other such obstacle that got in the way of what she wanted, what she thought they both wanted. Every minute they wasted not telling each other how they felt.

Every time she just needed him to listen, and he didn’t.

She’s angry, and she doesn’t want to be, but a wave of resentment is washing over her and she can’t stop it. She’s jealous, plain and simple; jealous of an alien colonization. She can’t compete with it, after everything.

But she’s sure as shit going to try.

Straddling him, she pushes him back against the headboard, hard. Her fingers claw at his scalp and she sucks on his bottom lip. She grips his lap tightly with her thighs, locking him in place. _It isn’t fair,_ she thinks. It isn’t fair how hard he made her fall for him, how she loves him more than anything in the world, when he can’t give her that in return.

So many years she’s done everything she can to be with him, to love him in spite of the things she can’t change about him. She pictured a future, a real future. A leap of faith.

_If this is the truth you’ve been searching for, then what is left to believe in?_

He still may be right. After everything, the world could still fall apart. _They_ could still fall apart. They still might have a shelf life, regardless of his precious colonization date. They are not invincible, impenetrable, after all. She knows that now.

“Scully, it’s… it’s almost midnight,” he sputters.

 _So?_ she thinks.

“Please, Mulder… no more talking. Just be here with me tonight, okay?”

She’s never had to outright ask him for his focus in bed before. She hopes she never has to again. But he nods, combing his fingers through her hair, and pulls her mouth to his.

She can feel the desperation and urgency in his kiss. His hands move to her shirt and he pulls it up and over her head, his mouth seamlessly moving to her breasts, tilting her backwards slightly to cover every surface he can get to with his lips.

He takes her nipple into his mouth and sucks gently, his thumb circling her other one, as she holds herself up by his neck, gasping, _Mulder… oh, Mulder…_ For the first time, she hates the way he knows exactly how to please her. She hates how certain she is that he’s the only one who ever could.

He moves to shift her onto her back and she lets him, wanting to feel his weight covering every part of her. He lays her down and continues his attentions. She can feel his tongue licking and sucking, making her nipples so hard they are physically aching for him. _Don’t stop, never stop,_ is all she’s thinking. He doesn’t stop, but only increases the intensity of his sucking until she thinks he could make her come right now from just this. Every kiss breaks her heart a little bit, and every touch only makes her want him more.

She’s vaguely aware of his fingers inside her and she is so, so wet she doesn’t remember him putting them in. She doesn’t even remember him taking her underwear off. She doesn’t want this to end, not yet, and she doesn’t recall ever having to work so hard _not_ to orgasm in her life.

She looks up and sees tears in his eyes and it hurts her to know how real this all is to him, that whatever may actually happen he’s manufactured this scenario in his mind; the scenario where, after tonight, nothing will matter. He’s gamed it out already; he’s prepared for the end.

But she isn’t.

She wipes his tears and pulls him to her lips to kiss his eyes and before she knows it she is crying, too. He truly believes this could be the last time they ever make love, she can see it. It makes her heart ache to think how misguided this whole thing is.

She remembers the first time she saw his faith so shaken, when he learned that her cancer had been given to her as part of an elaborate plot to keep him under the Syndicate’s thumb. He’d almost ended his own life, so desolate he’d been at having believed in a lie. She thinks about this from time to time in his darker moments; what might have happened that fateful night had he not been interrupted, had he not been handed yet another mystery to solve.

He would have killed himself, she knows it. He would have been dead, and then so would she. What was it all for?

Suddenly she is filled with fear for him, and what will happen to him if the world doesn’t end tonight. Will he be able to move forward from that? And if so, how will he do so? Are these really their only options? The Mulder she will be left with after his convictions are dashed, or the end of the world? Both scenarios mean she loses him.

Her heart is so full of love that despite the melancholy overtaking her she can still feel her sex aching with need for him, and as she reaches down to feel his own she thanks God that, at the very least, they can have this, right now. She’s never needed him more.

He seems to need it as badly as she does and quickly removes every remaining piece of his clothing. She tugs off his shirt last and soon they are holding each other closely, no barriers to speak of.

 His face is anguished, eyes closed, and she doesn’t want to see that face anymore. She places her hands on his cheeks softly and what comes out of her mouth surprises her.

“Fox.”

His eyes fly open. He looks at her closely, knowing she would only say it if it was important. Tears spill from his eyes and she knows now, feeling him hard and warm against her, looking into the eyes that anchor her to earth, that this will not be their last time. It simply can’t be.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she says to him, and for a moment she truly believes it.

 

***

 

He isn’t certain what to expect. A flash of light, an explosion. Nuclear holocaust. Armageddon. Fire in the sky. Maybe he’ll be watching her, just looking at her and she will slowly disappear into nothingness, both of them together.

Years ago, before his charges had been cleared, a mysterious figure had reached out to him through Scully. She hadn’t been thrilled to pass along the contact information but she did it anyway, perhaps feeling a bit guilty about his isolation. It hadn’t been much, but it had rejuvenated his search. This mystery man was a doctor hired by the government to experiment with alien DNA, and while he was less than forthcoming with his information, it had been enough. Mulder was so hungry for something to sink his teeth into he’d taken the information and run with it.

The information he’d gathered made him all the more certain this date was for real. But he hadn’t told Scully the details. He didn’t want to upset her. He didn’t want her to think he was falling back into that world even though that was exactly what was happening to him, slowly, like a frog in a pot of boiling water. He knew it. He stayed in the pot anyway.

For the first few years, Scully hadn’t minded his extracurricular activity. Whenever she asked what he was doing, he only had to mention aliens and UFOs and she’d predictably roll her eyes and the topic would be dropped. She wasn’t interested, and he wasn’t sure if it was denial or just plain fatigue. But she never wanted to discuss the colonization date, what it meant, what might happen, any of it. It was just one more verboten topic on their ever growing list.

All the apocalyptic scenarios he’d imagined over the years are probably ridiculous, and what alien colonization looks like is probably nothing he would expect. The only thing he knows for certain is that _something_ is going to happen tonight. Something huge. He can feel it with every fiber of his being.

He thought she felt it too.

Here and now, he looks into her eyes and she is so, so calm, and looking at him with such love that he is almost unable to take it. He can’t stop the tears from forming again, and as she arches her hips and reaches around his back to guide him into her, as he feels himself filling her every empty space, her familiar warmth surrounding him, he cannot bear it and falls on top of her, his face buried in her hair.

He thrusts into her with every ounce of love he can muster. It’s a strange sensation considering his emotional state.

He wants to look at her so he pulls back to do so and his tears fall freely onto her face. He wishes he could make her understand, that he doesn’t _want_ this to be the end. He just knows it is. He can feel it. It’s a truth he’s never doubted.

What began as something rushed and frantic has slowed down, and her hands gently comb the hair at his nape and she pulls his face close to hers and whispers into his ear.

“Fox…” she whispers again, and he closes his eyes. She can call him Fox, she can call him Mulder, she can say anything she wants to say as long as she’s here with him and he can hear her voice. There’s nothing he can think of to say back to her that could express everything he’s feeling so he tries to show her instead, moving slowly but insistently in the dark.

His scratchy cheek rubs against her soft one as they move together and he feels her legs wrapping around his back, her hands gripping his shoulders, as her moaning becomes more pronounced. He can feel the familiar sensations of his orgasm approaching.

“Don’t stop… don’t ever stop… please…” She’s begging him. Her eyes are closed but he can see that she looks so sad. He’s trapped in between hope and despair, love and heartbreak, today and tomorrow. He doesn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, making her come is more important than anything he’s ever done in his life and he becomes desperate. He’s seconds away, he knows it, but he needs her to finish too. He moves down to her nipple again, and he takes it into his mouth, perfectly round and hard, and bites it the way he knows drives her crazy, pinching her other nipple between his fingers. _Come, Scully, come._ She grips his waist with her calves and turns her head to the side, mouth clamped closed, like she’s trying not to.

He needs her to, badly. And he knows exactly how to do it. He leans into her ear, and drops his voice an octave.

“Scully… come for me.”

His voice always does the trick and like clockwork she screams out in pleasure and her legs squeeze him tighter, pulling him into her even deeper. He feels her walls clench tightly around him and this is all it takes for him to spill everything he has inside of her, everything he can give her in this dark hour of the unknown.

He can’t see her face very well in the dark but somehow her eyes find his like they always do, without fail. She touches his face tenderly, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and for a moment he forgets everything else, and is truly only here with her, right now. She holds him on top of her, and he can feel himself pulsating inside of her, every heartbeat passing from him to her, from her to him, in these precious post-coital moments. His face falls next to hers, both their cheeks so wet he can’t tell sweat from tears.

After a few moments… “Mulder.”

They’ve been so busy neither of them noticed the clock had ticked past midnight. They look at each other silently, neither knowing what to say. He doesn’t want to move, not yet. It’s as if just being still can somehow keep the world in motion.

Finally, after several more minutes of waiting, he speaks.

“This isn’t right.”

He rolls away from her, and she reaches out for his hand. He jerks it away and jumps off the bed. Her voice calls his name, echoing in the distance as he runs, not stopping. He races downstairs, throws the front door open and runs out into the yard, the frigid December air hitting him like a wall of nails. He looks up to the sky to see nothing.

Nothing.

No alien crafts, no fire in the sky, nothing.

He’s not sure exactly what he expected to happen, but _nothing_ was certainly not it. And then he feels something rise up inside him he cannot explain or account for: abject disappointment.

“Mulder!” He hears her coming outside but he doesn’t want to break down in front of her. He knows he should be thrilled nothing happened but he isn’t and he doesn’t know why. Or… maybe he does.

None of it was true. He’s believed it so firmly, so insistently that he hadn’t really entertained life beyond 2012 a possibility.

_I was wrong._

He’s always followed his gut, always trusted his instincts. His instincts told him for years this had been the truth, with a capital “T.” He knew it.

_I was wrong._

He’d wasted so much time, so much energy and he’d been duped by that fucking cancer stick smoking son of a bitch once again. He would hit something if there was anything out here to hit.

Suddenly he feels tears stinging his eyes as they fill uncontrollably and he wishes he could make it stop but suddenly his own world has been turned upside down. He was so, so wrong, all this time… and Scully knew it. He doesn’t know why he’s angry but he is. He feels like an idiot. She’s just so calm about all this. Why is that upsetting him so much?

He should have known she didn’t believe it. Why did he expect anything different?

More to the point, why does he care so much?

 

***

 

She throws her robe on, following him downstairs. She takes a moment to acknowledge that she is literally chasing a naked crazy man outside of their house. She would roll her eyes at the inevitability of this scenario if she wasn’t genuinely worried about his mental state.

She watches him drop to his knees in their front yard, and before long she is behind him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, kneeling beside him.

“Mulder, come inside, please. It’s freezing. Come inside and sit down.”

He’s quiet, staring into the sky.

“What are you looking at, Mulder? What was it you expected? Armageddon or something?”

She didn’t mean it to come out that way. She would never, ever want him to think she thought he’d been foolish. In all their years together it wasn’t something she ever truly felt, even when they disagreed. A little nuts, maybe, but never stupid. She has no idea exactly what alien colonization would entail. She’d tried to put this moment out of her mind for so many years it never occurred to her to picture it with any kind of clarity.

“All these years, Scully… why? You were… what,  just humoring me?”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t humoring you,” she replies. “I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think about it at all, I guess.”

“You never believed it!” he shouts. He hasn’t shouted like this in a long time, and never at her. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Mulder, calm down, please!” she pleads. His eyes are manic, crazed. She can’t understand why he’s behaving this way. In their entire relationship, even when they disagreed, she’d always felt supported. Right now, she’s feeling resented.

“You never believed it… You never believed me…” he whimpers as he lays on his side.

She lays across him, trying to embrace him. It’s so fucking cold outside she’s worried he could freeze to death if they stay out here much longer.

“This doesn’t mean it isn’t true, Mulder… what if… what if you got the date wrong? Or maybe it’s happening and we just don’t know it?”

She wants to kick herself. Why is she trying to convince him he is right? Why is she holding his hand, leading him back into that dark place again? She’s fallen back into the role she doesn’t want, doesn’t need anymore. She only wants him to come back to earth, back to her. She’s so done with all of this she could scream.

He’s staring into space, as if he doesn’t even see her. She holds him tightly, stroking his hair, his cheek, trying to get him to look at her. But he just stares.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she says. She isn’t sorry, and she isn’t sure why she should be, but he seems so upset with her. All she can think to do is to manage it. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand any of this.”

He appears practically catatonic, and she checks his pulse and his pupil dilation but physically, everything is as it should be.

_What the hell is wrong with him?_

She is suddenly struck by a memory, of Mulder getting shoved into the back of a police car with her at the Wiekamp Air Force Base nearly fifteen years ago. She will never forget the look on his face that night, the look of utter confusion and hopelessness and desperation.

_What happened?_

_...I don’t know._

She’d reached out to take his hand, to see his face, to understand. To make _him_ understand she was still there, still in it with him. And he’d looked her in the eyes and knew it, too.

“This isn’t right, it can’t be...” he’s muttering to himself. “It has to be true.”

Suddenly she’s struck by a thought, a silly thought, but it persists.  _Is he upset he was wrong?_ Could it be so simple?

She can’t count the number of times in their tenure on the X files she’d been wrong. He never made her feel bad about it, and she rarely admitted it, but they both knew. They always knew. He got to be right, and she was mostly wrong. That was how working on the X files went.

Could he be grappling with the fact that something he’d invested so much time and personal energy in wasn’t the truth? What must this be doing to him?

This was what she’d feared, what she’d tried so hard to ignore. The cancer man had wanted to see Mulder’s spirit broken. She can only be glad he didn’t live to see it.

“We’re alive, Mulder. We’re together. Everything is fine. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”

Finally he shakes his head. “No, it’s not all that matters, Scully. I wasn’t wrong about this. Not this time. There has to be a mistake.”

He sits up and looks around the yard, and he appears confused, as if he isn’t exactly sure what’s going on or where he is. Then he gets up and slowly wanders back into the house. She stays where she is, shivering in the cold, feeling for all the world like they are back in that basement office again, stuck at yet another dead end, no hope in sight.

 

 

***

 

The sunlight is streaming through the windows and she awakens, turning over to see his sinewy back next to her. It’s December 22nd, 2012, and here they are, safe and sound in their bed.

For a moment she forgets everything is terrible and smiles, tracing the muscle lines of his back. She drapes an arm over him, continuing to stroke his stomach, waiting for his inevitable response. When he does nothing, she thinks maybe he’s still asleep, so she props herself up on an arm and peeks over his shoulder to look at his face. His eyes are wide open, staring straight ahead.

“Mulder? You okay?”

He doesn’t respond. She retracts her arm and turns over, away from him. She feels such frustration and powerlessness she doesn’t know what to do. He needs to let this go, he needs to move on, but he can’t; he won’t. It’s his very nature, it’s the essence of Mulder; he will never change.

For the first time she truly wonders if maybe she isn’t cut out for this, for him. His obsession is interfering with their life now, the life she’s trying so hard to build and maintain for the both of them. For so long she thought she could keep these things separate in his mind, that she could always reel him back in when she needed to. She’d succeeded countless times in the past but this time it feels different.

This one, she’s taking personally.

Her mind wanders to what he once said to her years ago when they were discussing his cigarette addiction. He’d admitted he knew it was bad for him but he couldn’t shake it. And she’d immediately compared that to her own relationship with him, how she knew he was probably bad for her but she was addicted to him. She loved him too much to quit.

She’d told him then he’d made the right decision, choosing his own life over his addiction. What is she choosing now?

“I need to… go somewhere,” he suddenly utters into the void. He sits up in the bed and throws his legs over the side. “I need to meet someone.”

“Who?”

She watches the back of his head shaking and knows he isn’t going to tell her. For the first time, she really doesn’t care. She’s just so exhausted by all of this. She lays in bed and watches him pull on his clothes and exit their bedroom without another word, then after a minute hears the front door slam and the car engine start, and he is gone.

She’s rarely been in their house by herself without him. It’s a strange, lonely feeling. Musing about what all these years of such loneliness must have been like for him, she wanders downstairs and before she realizes it she’s standing in his office.

She looks around at the walls, covered in scraps and papers that scream _obsession_. She’s reminded of the day she met him, how all of this drew her into him, excited her, made her ache to know him. She’d wanted to know him from that very first day. It’s been almost twenty years and as she looks around she finally knows the horrible truth: she wants him to change. She wants him to change for her and he will not.

She finds an old stack of X files, the ones he’d painstakingly reconstructed after the fire in their office. She flips through a couple until she finds one she remembers vividly. It’s dated May of 1997. Pulling it out, she reads her own words back to herself.

_“Agent Mulder undertook this treatment hoping to lay claim to his past--that by retrieving memories lost to him, he might finally understand the path he's on. But if that knowledge remains elusive, and if it's only by knowing where he's been that he can hope to understand where he's going, then I fear Agent Mulder may lose his course, and the truths he's seeking, from his childhood, will continue to evade him...driving him more dangerously forward in impossible pursuit.”_

She knew, even then, his pursuit was going to be dangerous. She’d embarked on this journey with him anyway. Twenty years into their relationship and he is still moving forward in impossible pursuit. How can she be surprised?

How will they ever be truly happy when he can’t be content to simply remain still? All the fears she’d had about him are coming to pass, and this particular one feels like the final straw. She never thought there could ever be a final straw with him. Not with Mulder. It’s unfathomable, but here they are.

She wonders whether, if circumstances had been different, things could have turned out differently. If Mulder hadn’t been idle, purposeless, maybe he wouldn’t have invested so much energy into his obsession once again.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe what she’d feared all these years was bound to come to pass at some point, regardless of the circumstance. It breaks her heart to know that, with or without her, this probably still would have happened. Having her around hasn’t made a damn bit of difference, and she feels the pain of this realization acutely.

One of them has to change. Something has to give.

She can’t help but fight back tears at the cruel irony of all this. She’d been so relieved, such a weight lifted off her shoulders when that clock ticked past midnight and she knew their future was still intact. But now, knowing how he feels, all she can feel is despair.

The chasm between them is so wide it's pushing her backwards, away from him. And her walls, which she’d spent so many years carefully letting down for him, are starting to rebuild themselves.

She doesn’t realize it, but she hasn’t changed, either.

 

***

 

The days pass and his anxiety only increases. He feels like he has a defibrillator inside his brain and every passing second is another threat of it going off. His certainty about this, that this date mattered, that this date meant something has seeped into his mind and built a home on top of everything that existed there before.

Even Scully.

This conviction is so pervasive he begins to lose sight of himself. His fixation on what is happening around him, the things that could be going on at this very moment he isn’t privy to, takes over his life.

It’s not that he wants the world to end; he’s just terrified it still will. He’s so sure he was right that he falls head first into another search, another quest. He’s found his determination once again.

The days and weeks and months pass in this state of uncertainty, and he falls deeper and deeper into the darkness. He feels it surrounding him. But Scully is still here with him; she’s always here. It’s the one thing he can always count on.

Scully will always stay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue from “Demons” written by R.W. Goodwin
> 
> I urge you to read my [breakup chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34442879) before proceeding to the next chapter.


	28. First Someone Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly she’s angry again, that with everything she’s lost since she met Mulder, he’s somehow taken this from her, too: the ability to love anyone else ever again. She knows it isn’t fair but she wants to prove him wrong, she’s never wanted to prove him wrong so badly in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the [breakup chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34442879) if you haven’t, because this chapter picks up directly after Scully leaves. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Scully with another guy.
> 
> (This chapter traumatized me so don’t worry, things will get better soon)

 

 

 

**(2014)**

 

The front door closes, and she is gone.

He can still taste her kiss on his lips and hear her voice bouncing around the room. It’s as if half of him has just… disappeared.

He wants to run after her, but he physically can’t move, as if he’s glued to the floor. The sound of her car door closing and the engine starting invades his ears and he hears her leaving him forever, wheels spinning on dirt, getting quieter and quieter.

Gone.

His mind races with a clarity he hasn’t had in months. How could he have let this happen? How could he have gotten so careless? She’s been by his side for twenty years, _twenty years_ she’s put up with his bullshit.

Images of all the times he’s lost her before flash through his mind: Duane Barry and the powerlessness he felt watching her get taken away up into the stars. Hearing her calling for him desperately while in the clutches of Gerry Schnauz. Watching her put a gun to her own head and pulling the trigger, certain it was her, only to find out it had been a trick.

Dying of cancer that she’d never have gotten at all if it weren’t for him, and still only thinking of him, and what she could do for him.

Countless other times flash through his mind, times when the fear of losing her was his driving motivation to do great things, to get her back, to feel whole again.

But this… _this_ he cannot fathom. For the first time Scully has _chosen_ to leave him behind.

His heart had ached each of those times, more and more, until it finally convinced him of the truth: that he loved her more than he loved himself. He loved her more than anything. And now he’s let her go forever.

Has he taken her love, her devotion, her mere _presence_ for granted? He always thought they could survive anything, and here he is, alone on the floor of their house. He hears fucking birds singing outside. It isn’t right.

He doesn’t cry, he has no energy to. He can’t even get up. All he feels is numb. So he lays down on the floor and stares at the wall.

 

***

 

He might have fallen asleep but he isn’t sure. Time doesn’t seem to matter anymore. In any event, he opens his eyes and sees his I Want to Believe poster staring back at him, mocking him.

If she believed in him anymore, she’d have stayed. This knowledge rips him in half and his tears finally find their way out. He weeps, guttural sobs echoing around every corner of this home they made together.

He cries himself to sleep.

 

***

 

An enormous urge to pee is the only thing that forces him to drag his body off the floor. He practically sleepwalks to the bathroom where he empties his bladder. He glances over at the sink where he sees her pink toothbrush still nestled in its spot right next to his blue one. His toiletry bag is opened, his shaving kit spread out over the surface.

He looks closer at the side pocket of the bag, having not noticed in a long, long time the lock of Scully’s hair he’d clipped while they were on the run years ago, before she’d dyed her hair for him.

She’d done it for him, so much for him.

He flushes the toilet and then returns to the same spot in his office, where he lays down again, eyes open, feeling sorry for himself. He’s not ready to live anywhere else yet, so here he will stay, lying on this hardwood floor.

He slips back into unconsciousness.

 

***

 

He doesn’t know what time it is, and even though he’s been sleeping all day he’s exhausted. He climbs the stairs slowly and enters their bedroom.

He stands at the doorway and surveys the empty room. He notices she’d thoughtfully made the bed before she came downstairs to rip his heart out. He approaches it, his fingers reaching out to touch her pillow, and before he can stop himself he’s laid down on her side, his head buried into the indentation she left behind, breathing her in the only way he can.

He cannot stop the tears, again, and his loneliness envelops him, lulling him back to sleep.

 

***

 

When he wakes again it’s dark outside. He can see stars through the window above him and flips over, turning his back to them. His stomach grumbles in need, and he rolls off the bed, determined to do something for himself. He doesn’t have her here anymore to take care of him. He’s going to have to do this alone.

He has to find the answer to this, to Scully leaving him. He has to know the truth of it.

He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. He takes a banana and eats the whole thing in four bites. Searching the kitchen he opens the pantry door and sees something that wasn’t there before; a dozen or so packages of sunflower seeds Scully must have bought for him.

He knows this means something, he just doesn’t know what.

 

***

 

After several days pass, he realizes he needs to do something, anything, before he actually drives himself crazy. He doesn’t want to fall back into the place he’d been months ago.

So he starts randomly moving furniture around. Even just a couple feet. The couch over here, the table over there. The TV on the other wall. None of it means anything, it’s just _something_.

But one of these moves does mean something. He can’t be in that office anymore. He can’t. The office is where this problem started. It’s where she left him. He never wants to think about this room again.

He goes inside to take all of his stuff out, piling it around the house. Lastly he grabs hold of the desk and starts to pull it towards the door. He realizes he’s scratching up the floor and at first he feels rage that he even cares but then realizes he cares because he knows _she_ cares. He can’t do shit for her right now, but he can do this.

He painstakingly takes apart the desk, piece by piece. Pieces he thinks probably aren’t even supposed to be removed. Then he carries it, every part, out into the living room, and spends another couple hours putting it back together. He rolls the chair up and takes a seat, exhaling.

 _That’s better._ He can breathe out here.

He walks over to the empty office and closes the door. Then he looks upstairs and remembers there’s one more room he needs to deal with.

Tomorrow. He will address that tomorrow. He trudges over to the couch, plopping down on it, and falls promptly asleep.

 

***

 

He stares at the door to the room, the room at the end of the hall they never talk about.

He slowly turns the knob and opens it, and he’s greeted by mountains of boxes full of books and magazines and files and articles. Video tapes and various paraphernalia from his past life. It could take a lifetime to sort through it all; it certainly took a lifetime to accumulate it.

The Lone Gunmen had helped him save everything in his apartment before he had to leave Scully behind with their son. It filled a storage unit that had been paid months and months in advance. When they’d moved into the house, Scully had told the movers to put it all in the spare bedroom and neither of them had ever set foot in there again.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d kept any of it. He never had trouble finding new articles and books to keep his mind engaged, to fill all the empty hours while Scully was at work. He suspects he’d saved it all as an excuse to keep from discussing what to do with the room once it was empty.

Now, he wants to be rid of anything superfluous in his life. He wants to simplify. He needs to help himself see what’s important, and not be distracted or blinded anymore.

He’s going to try, at least.

He carries boxes and items down to the living room, where everything gets strewn about. Books stacked on the stairs, articles across the floor. It’s going to be a process; going through all these memories of a life he’s left behind won’t be quick or easy.

After a couple days of this, he opens a box with some old familiar friends: his stash of adult videos he was certain Frohike would make “accidentally disappear” during the move. But here they are, intact.

Scully never had a problem with the porn, but he hadn’t needed it. All these years she had been there to meet his needs, to exceed them. Even the times he’d stumbled across it on the internet in the past few years he hadn’t indulged. Before Scully, these women had fulfilled a basic biological need he’d mostly overlooked. Sex wasn’t on his radar at all. He was always so wrapped up in his work he hadn’t been focused on his urges. The need for release would creep up on him as necessary and he’d satisfy that need, more to regain the ability to focus on his work than for any other reason.

He’d been such a different person then, such a different man. Those needs had been secondary.

After meeting and knowing Scully for a while, his urges had evolved. She’d become the focus of his erotic fantasies and he hated himself a bit for it, guilty for reducing her in such a way even in his mind. They were equals, and he didn’t have to convince himself of that so much as remind himself. But she was a beautiful woman and he loved her, even when he didn’t know it. And he was still a man, after all.

So the tapes had made a reappearance way back in the day out of necessity and respect for Scully, as odd as that sounded. He could probably pinpoint it to that trip to the Arctic Circle, if he thinks hard enough. The frequency increased, and it had gotten to the point where it was happening so often she would find his tapes. He was being careless but he realized it was on purpose; if she thought he was just a regular guy who jerked off to porn, she might not realize he was doing it to distract himself from his completely inappropriate desire for his partner.

 _Ah, my old friends,_ he thinks now as he pulls each tape from the box. There’s the hot cop fantasy tape, which had been enjoyed any time they’d had a particularly action packed day. The good old fashioned alien abduction porno, which he would admit to himself every time was weird, but it always did the job so he kept it in the rotation.

Then he pulls a third tape from the box, _the tape,_ the one he’d watch more than any other. It was a space shuttle film, an astronaut crew stuck in a time warp, which would take them years to return to earth but their bodies remained unaged. Good times ensued for all.

But it wasn’t the wide array of debauchery on display in this particular film that kept him coming back. It was the main actress, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Scully. He’d watched a lot of porn in his time and he’d never encountered another woman who could fill that particular fantasy as well. It was uncanny, and although he knew the purpose of the porn was to get his mind _off_ her, the temptation to give in to this ultimate fantasy was far too great.

So he’d give in to it, time after time. He’d watch this stranger’s face, this stranger that looked exactly like his Scully, and he’d wrap his hand around his cock and stroke slowly, the way he’d imagined she might do it before he had access to her. Slowly and lovingly at first, but before long his eyes would close and the stranger would disappear and he’d only see Scully in his mind’s eye, her deep blue eyes and raised eyebrow, her perfect mouth and the way her tongue would roll over her bottom lip completely involuntarily, as if she had no clue what that did to him.

He’d find himself frantically jerking off to this image, having no earthly idea how she would be in bed, how she would be with him, only imagining things his go-to adult actresses would do and be.

Then there was the night she came to him, finally, and admitted with her body she loved him too. As amazing as every night subsequent to that night was, he will never forget that first time. It was the night his fantasies became real, and he finally, _finally_ knew the answers to those questions. It was truth, real truth, and he’d found it in her.

He remembers the last time they’d made love. It was months ago, and he cringes at the thought of how he’d let time get away from them. She cried afterwards. He remembers it now, but at the time he’d been so blind, too distracted to even notice. He thinks of how lost she must have been at that point, knowing she was leaving him but staying anyway because of his health. Then he realizes she’d grieved the end of their romance before she’d ever left him alone on that floor. She’d given up long before she left him, and stayed with him anyway.

It was such a Scully thing to do.

He’s filled with such regret and in this moment all he wants to do is hold her in his arms and wipe those tears she cried months ago from her eyes. He’s been so wrapped up in his own nonsense he hasn’t even taken the time to miss her, her scent, her touch, her kiss, her body. Even when she was still here, he hadn’t taken the time.

He then glances behind the box and sees one more item that shatters his heart into pieces. It’s the old Navajo blanket that used to drape over the back of his couch. The one that smells like Scully. His hand reaches out to grab it and before he knows what’s happening he’s breathing it in, seeking the years-old scent of her that still lingers there, breathing her in again.

He gets up and heads downstairs with the blanket and the video. He sticks the tape in the VCR, fast forwarding to the images of Faux Scully.

“Have you ever experienced anti-gravity before?” the voice of the female astronaut titters from the television. Mulder grabs the remote and hits “mute.”

He puts his hand inside his boxers and around himself once again. Is it even possible he hasn’t done this in so long? Suddenly his eyes are closed and he’s thinking of her, the woman he loves, the one who broke his heart because he’d broken hers. He strokes himself with desperation and after a very short time he comes, and with his orgasm comes a wave of clarity.

Suddenly nothing else matters but the face he’s picturing right now. He lost sight of himself so long ago, he can’t remember when and how he fucked this all up beyond repair. They’d been so, so happy when they got married. He truly felt like everything was almost perfect for years.

_I’m asking you to look at yourself._

She’d said this to him years ago, and he hadn’t listened. He’d barreled ahead as always, doggedly pursuing his truth, when she’d been standing right in front of him this entire time. He’d pushed her aside and kept looking.

He wants to be angry at her for leaving, for breaking a vow, but so had he. He’d promised to prove to her she was his truth, that she was the most important thing in his life and he’d failed. He knows it, even now.

She’d asked him to choose her, and he didn’t.

He’s always sought the truth. It’s suddenly plain to him that for the past year he’s been reaching for denial. Denial that she’d ever leave him, that she’d ever find his obsession too much for her. He’d ignored every sign.

He felt it overtake him; the very darkness she had feared. He’d allowed it in spite of her objections. It’s still here, now, only it isn’t monsters bringing it. _He_ is the bringer, the very manufacturer of her anguish. _He_ had been the harbinger of doom, the bogeyman, the thing that went bump in their night.

_I can’t stand what it does to you, or to me._

She’d warned him and he hadn’t listened. Why is he finding so much clarity only now, after she’s gone? He’d wasted so much time feeling sorry for himself, losing sight of himself, he’d lost sight of her, too. How could he have let that happen?

He told her once she was his pale blue dot, the beacon he’d never lose sight of, yet he’d let it happen. No wonder she’d finally completely broken away from him.

Suddenly he feels a strong urge to go outside. He hasn’t even thought about it in a long time but it occurs to him it’s probably been weeks since he’s felt the sunlight on his face. It feels important. He turns off the television and cleans up the evidence of his newfound epiphany. He tucks himself back into his sweatpants and stands, heading towards the front door.

He pushes open the screen and steps onto the porch, taking in his surroundings. He can’t feel the sun from here so he walks down the steps and across the yard. Not of his own volition, he finds himself walking away from the house, away from the past, down the path to their driveway. He’s walking, walking, not knowing where but knowing sitting here in his misery isn’t going to take him anywhere. It isn’t going to get him what he wants.

It isn’t going to bring her back.

As he approaches the gate at the end of their driveway he thinks he will probably open it and just keep walking, until his legs give out and he’s given everything he has. But then he sees something that stops him dead in his tracks.

There, in the gate that had kept him isolated from everyone in the world but her, is nestled a note. It’s folded carefully and tucked into the locking mechanism. He knows instantly it must be from her and wonders if she left it here the day she left him or if she actually came back at some point to leave it, after the fact. Coming up to the house would have been far too difficult.

He wants to weep at her lack of appreciation of how broken he is, how unlikely leaving the house and actually finding this note in a timely fashion would have been for him. She has no idea what he’s feeling, how much pain he’s in. No idea. She thinks he doesn’t care. It breaks his heart again.

He stands there at the edge of their driveway, it will always be their driveway, and unfolds the note. There is no formality, just words and thoughts she cannot say to his face.

 

_“I love you. I always will. This just got too difficult, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I will never forgive myself for that, and I’ll never forget that look on your face as long as I live._

_I’ll never stop caring about you, and I certainly won’t stop wishing this had all turned out differently._

_Please take care of yourself, Mulder. You don’t owe me a thing but if there’s one thing you can do for me, just one thing, it’s to take care of your health. I love you.”_

 

His first thought is _she came back. At some point, she came back._ If she were truly done with him, would she have bothered? The note proves she’s still thinking about him, still worrying about him. Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for them after all.

_I love you._

She still loves him, and that’s the only thing he has to cling to. Maybe it will be enough. The letter ends this way, no goodbye, no sign-off. Just a pause, a gap of nothingness.

He hopes it’s because she truly doesn’t want to say goodbye.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**(2016)**

 

_Loneliness is a choice._

She knows when she left Mulder she’d chosen loneliness, but she hadn’t known what else to do. She was lonely when he was in the same room as her. Being lonely with him was far worse, she thought, than being lonely without him.

It’s been two years since she left and she’s so tired of being lonely.

She doesn’t really know why she said yes to this date. Derek is an architect who, over the past several weeks had been in and out of the hospital while a new wing was being built. She’d found him attractive, and he’d asked her out before. She said no at first, but he hadn’t given up. She found that intriguing, which was no surprise to her. It’s what she loved about Mulder.

 _Loves_ about Mulder.

Derek sits across from her now, smiling, and she feels a bit guilty for not being able to give him her full attention. He’s brought her to a very nice restaurant, ordered the nicest bottle of wine on the menu, and given her his own undivided attention since they arrived. He’s perfectly nice, polite, and good looking. His salt and pepper goatee gives him a look of maturity, something she’d been hoping to find in Mulder for years.

She instantly hates herself a little for thinking these petty things about him. She’d gotten herself into this mess twenty years ago when he’d entered her life and she let him burrow his way into her like a piece of her own soul. It isn’t his fault he hasn’t changed, it’s her own for wanting him to. But she can’t help her frustration for all the time she wasted, all the moments he spent making her fall in love with him.

All for nothing.

She doesn’t want to be angry tonight, not right now. So she attempts to refocus.

“Something on your mind, Dana?” Derek asks. “You seem a million miles away.”

“Do I?” She shifts in her chair. “I’m sorry.”

_Get your shit together, Dana._

“It’s okay. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” The word escapes her lips and she knows, as always, it isn’t true. But she wants to be fine.

“I’m glad you decided to come out with me,” he says, smiling. “I wasn’t really able to focus at work until you said yes. I’m worried the new oncology wing is going to be built without walls.”

She isn’t used to this kind of behavior, such obvious courting. It’s nice, but it makes her uncomfortable and she can’t put a finger on why.

 _It’s all too easy,_ she thinks. She’s not used to easy. She’s used to impossible.

“You’ve been very patient with me,” she says quietly. It isn’t that she hasn’t noticed him too, she just hasn’t been ready to date. She isn’t even sure she is, now.

“So what made you finally come around?”

She pauses, not sure how much she wants to reveal. “It’s been… a rough couple of years.” She stares intently at her glass of wine, tracing her fingertip around the lip of the glass. “But I think it may be time to… move on.”

“Bad breakup?”

Her eyes widen and she looks up, not sure how to respond. As usual, her eyes do it for her.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately says. “I didn’t mean- if it’s a touchy subject, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Oddly, she wants to. She can’t get Mulder off her mind anyway, so she may as well talk about him.

“It’s okay. Yes, it was a bad breakup. We’d been together for over twenty years. So it’s difficult to let go.” No need to expound upon the intricacies and development of their relationship. This dinner won’t last that many courses.

“I understand. My divorce was amicable, but there’s so much history there. It’s still tough.”

 _Divorce._ She shudders inwardly at the word. It hadn’t occurred to her to divorce Mulder, ever. She told herself when she left she’d take care of it at a later date, when everything wasn’t so raw. But the more time that passed the less inclined she’d been to do anything about it. It just felt wrong to sever the final tie between them with that kind of finality. She felt comforted by the idea that they were still connected, somehow, even though they weren’t living together anymore. As if part of her could still somehow keep ahold of part of him. It was strange, and she couldn’t help but wonder if some deep dark place inside her assumed they’d reconcile one day.

She doesn’t want to tell this guy she’s still married. There’s a zero percent chance this date is going to lead anywhere that would require her to.

“How long have you been divorced?” she asks him.

“Six years. What about you? I mean, your last relationship ended…?

It’s so strange, referring to what she had with Mulder as a “last relationship,” as if he was just some stop on her lifelong journey towards the future. As if he’s something she just tossed away. Something else she survived. None of the other men she’d been involved with over the course of her life even came close to the connection she had with Mulder. She never thought of him as a “stop.” He’d been _it_ , she’d been certain.

“Almost two years now,” she says. It still feels fresh. She doesn’t believe it’s been two whole years.

“It will get easier,” Derek says. “I promise.”

She’s suddenly annoyed he’s said such a thing, as if he is somehow in a position to promise her anything. As if he has any fucking clue how difficult this has been for her, and probably will be forever.

“I hope you’re right,” is all she can think to respond.

He smiles at her warmly, and her annoyance turns to guilt. He’s only trying to make her feel better. She did say yes to him, after all. She owes it to him and to herself to try to have a nice time.

Luckily, she does. She has a surprisingly pleasant remainder of the evening, enjoying the wine and the food and his company. She even laughs a couple times. It’s nice.

A couple hours later, he walks her to her apartment door. She’s been living in a building not far from her old one, and although she’d hoped it would help her regain some semblance of her old life before Mulder, it hasn’t. It’s hard to remember that life now.

“I had a nice time tonight,” she says.

“So did I,” he agrees. “I’m really glad we did this.”

It’s only a first date and she hasn’t done this very often, but she knows what comes next. She also knows she is by no means ready for it, so she’s shocked by the next words that tumble out of her mouth.

“Do you want to come inside?”

He appears momentarily surprised, but he’s a guy, and she knows he’s no fool. So he quickly agrees and follows her in.

“Nice place,” he comments, as she takes off her jacket, throwing her keys onto the table and kicking off her shoes. It is a nice place, albeit completely devoid of personality. She hasn’t found the time or inclination to make this place her own. Again, she wonders if some part of her thinks this must be a temporary situation.

But she cannot think that way. She’s been disappointed far too many times. She can’t stay hung up on this idea forever.

“Thanks.” She steps towards him slowly, tiring of these pleasantries. They both know what he’s in her apartment for, and she’s either going to do this or she isn’t. The longer the uncertainty persists the longer she has a choice to make and she doesn’t want to make a choice. She just wants to act; she just wants to feel something.

He puts his hands on her waist and leans in, tilting his head. She closes her eyes and makes him come all the way to her, and when she feels his lips on hers a multitude of emotions rise up within her: primarily lust, but also comfort, also anger, also longing, also overwhelming sadness.

All for Mulder.

Derek’s kiss is new and different, and she tries to focus on the way his tongue softly slides along her lips, his hands encircle her waist, and the taste of him; wine and something else she can’t quite place.

She tries not to think of the past, she really tries. But she misses Mulder’s kiss so much she feels tears sting her eyes and she pulls away for a moment.

“Are you okay? Was that okay?” Derek looks concerned and all she can think is _this poor guy, he has no clue what he’s stepped into._ He’s absolutely perfect, and he’s not good enough. Because he’s not Mulder.

Suddenly she’s angry again, that with everything she’s lost since she met Mulder, he’s somehow taken this from her, too: the ability to love anyone else ever again. She knows it isn’t fair but she wants to prove him wrong, she’s never wanted to prove him wrong so badly in her life.

“I’m fine,” she says again. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel bad, Dana. Are you sure you want to do this?”

She nods her head slowly, and starts to remove his jacket. He shrugs out of it, grinning, and she moves to his tie, pushing aside thoughts of all those years ago when her Mulder, the old Mulder, used to wear ties and she used to take them off him.

 _“_ I’m tired of feeling bad, Derek,” she says. “I want to feel good. I need to feel good.”

His deep brown eyes flicker and she can tell he’s game. “Do you think you can you help me with that?” she asks. It wouldn’t be the first time she fucked some guy because she couldn’t deal with her feelings for Mulder. She only fears it will never, ever be her last.

 _“_ I can try,” he smiles, and although every single warning bell is sounding in her brain she pushes ahead anyway, pulling him into her, kissing him, pouring every ounce of her loneliness into him. She doesn’t want to feel this way, she just doesn’t know what else to do.

She pulls his body into hers, feeling him hard against her. Momentarily thrilled she still has this effect on a man, she presses her body against his, desperate to feel something, anything.

Suddenly her body has completely taken over, needing this man to touch her. The tiny pink personal massager Mulder gave her years ago hasn’t been cutting it. When she left she wanted to get rid of it, but couldn’t. She found it difficult to part with something that literally had his fingerprints all over it. After she left, she tried for a long time not to use it. It didn’t feel the same; not the way it did when they’d been together. But once thoughts of Mulder putting his hands on her the way he used to entered her brain, she realized she needed it and it practically became an addiction.

Her mouth opens to accommodate Derek’s kiss and his goatee scratches against her chin. She can’t help but regret the hundreds of kisses she’d refused Mulder because of a stupid beard and in this moment would give anything to feel just one more time. She’s painfully aware he isn’t going to leave her mind, her heart, even now when she’s in the arms of another man, but she forges ahead, her physical need paramount.

She pulls him into her bedroom, and they fall onto her bed, him on top, and she tilts her head back, urging him to move this along. He takes the hint and starts kissing her neck, unbuttoning her silk blouse all the way, opening it to reveal her cream colored demi-cup bra. She can feel the tops of her breasts spilling out over the top; she knows she looks amazing in this bra. She didn’t wear it by accident.

He kisses her collarbone and she shudders, but still imagines Mulder, knowing what he’d be doing next and picturing it in her mind. She moans a bit and can almost pretend it’s really him, and maybe she can actually do this. Maybe she can get through it; prove to herself she can get over him. Prove to herself she’s not in love with him anymore.

Derek trails his kisses down her stomach and she can feel him sliding her skirt up over her thighs. She knows what he’s doing and she wonders if he’ll be as good at it as Mulder was.

Suddenly she is gripped by reality as a dozen images flash through her mind: Mulder, about to kiss her on New Years Eve for the first time. Mulder, telling her in his hallway she made him a whole person. Mulder, looking at their son with wonder. Mulder, proposing to her on a beach far from the darkness.

 _This is a betrayal,_ she thinks. A betrayal of Mulder, a betrayal of herself, a betrayal of  _them,_ or whatever is left of them. It’s a betrayal of this poor nice guy poised to give her exactly what she asked him for as well, although she has to admit that betrayal feels secondary.

She sees countless more images that end with the look on his face as she walked away from him and suddenly she knows, she _knows_ she cannot go through with this.

“S-stop…” she hears herself say, just as she feels his breath against her thighs, just as his hands touch the top of her underwear, just as the scratchy sensations of this near-stranger’s beard approach her the way only Mulder should.

He pulls back and she sees a pair of unfamiliar eyes looking up at her over her stomach and she just wants him out of here, she just wants him to leave. She wants to forget this entire thing ever happened.

“I’m sorry… I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

He looks a bit disappointed but she’d read him right when she thought he was a nice guy; he’s immediately respectful.

“I had a feeling,” he says, sitting up. She sits up too and pulls her blouse closed.

“You did?”

“Just a second ago, you said… it sounded like a name.”

“I did?” She feels a hot flush of embarrassment radiate across her body.

“It didn’t actually sound like a name, not a name I recognized, anyway, but… it wasn’t mine, that’s for sure.”

He stands up and tucks his shirt in, and she doesn’t want to be rude but she wants nothing more than for him to get out, right now.

“I shouldn't have let you in and I’m sorry. I thought… maybe…”

“You don’t have to explain, Dana, I get it,” he says, not unkindly. “It’s too soon for you.”

She finishes buttoning up her shirt and pushes her skirt back down, disheveled and embarrassed. All she can do is nod.

He leaves her bedroom and heads toward the front door, every step a relief. Before he opens it, he turns back to her, standing in her bedroom doorway.

“Can I call you sometime?”

She knows she will never get over this embarrassment, and she feels so utterly low at this moment the idea of giving this nice guy any false hope is abhorrent to her. So she decides to let him down, as easily as possible.

“I don’t think so, Derek.”

He nods, and gives her a tiny grin, and she truly thinks if her heart didn’t belong so completely to another person, in some other life he might actually be worth her time. With that, he is gone.

 

***

 

_“Hello?”_

“Hi, it’s me.”

Mulder is quiet on the other end, maybe momentarily confused, but then his voice softens. _“...Hi, how are you?”_

She hasn’t talked to him in weeks. The last time was just to check in on him, which she does occasionally now. There’s been enough time and distance to make that part a little easier. Tonight, after everything that happened, she feels a great desire to hear his voice.

“What happened to your cell number, Mulder? It’s disconnected.” She couldn’t get through so she had to call the landline.

_“Oh, yeah… sorry, I changed the number a couple weeks ago. I meant to tell you.”_

“Again?” It must be the fourth time he’s changed his number this year.

_“I kept getting weird calls… I don’t know, Scully. Just feels like they’re watching me.”_

She’s used to his paranoia but it ebbs and flows. Unfortunately the past few months has been an ongoing “flows” period.

“You know you can hit the ‘block’ button for those calls.”

 _“Then I wouldn’t know they’re trying,”_ he says. She thinks he intended a double meaning but with him, she’s never sure.

“What’s your new number, then?”

He gives it to her. _“So what’s up, Doc?”_

She smiles at the familiar greeting. Every once in a while these calls are more pleasant than awkward.

“Nothing, just… wanted to see how you’re doing. Are you keeping busy?”

 _"Ummm… yes?”_ He sounds distracted, like he was in the middle of something when she called. _“Been working on my book.”_

“Can you read me some?” She says it so quickly she worries he will know why she called, why she really called. But he doesn’t seem particularly suspicious or surprised.

 _“Um… sure, hang on, I have to go get my laptop. Just a sec.”_ She hears him set the receiver down and as he scampers off to retrieve his words, she reaches into her nightstand and pulls out her fuschia companion.

Part of it is guilt, part of it is horniness, mostly she just misses him terribly. But she’s going to do this, and hopefully he will never be the wiser.

 _“You there, Scully?”_ She hears him pick the phone up again and cradles her own cell between her ear and her shoulder, closing her eyes, reaching one hand underneath his New York Knicks shirt, the one she stole from his dresser when she left. His scent surrounds her, his voice in her ear.

“I’m here.”

_“Okay, well, do you want the chapter about the volcanic neck-bursting creatures?”_

“No, Mulder. Something about you, or me.” She nearly stops herself but she says it. “Or… us.”

He’s quiet for a minute, and she hears him clicking through his documents.

_“Okay. Here’s something.”_

She turns on the vibrator, thankful it’s an extremely quiet one, and holds it in place. She closes her eyes and pictures his face.

_“She was instantly arresting, her mind alight with a spark I’d rarely seen. She understood me, even when we wouldn’t agree. Years of being ignored and she heard me. She actually listened to me. It was refreshing and inspiring.”_

_Wow, Mulder,_ she thinks. He always has had a way with words. The only surprising part is that it took him so long to put them down. Eyes closed, she gently drags the vibe up and down, seeking out the perfect spot. Her other hand plays with her nipple, circling and pinching.

_Mulder, Mulder, Mulder._

_“I didn’t know it at the time but this person would change the course of my life, make me see things I never saw, explain these things in a way I could understand. She was my other half, in every possible way.”_

She knows she should be focusing on getting in and out of this situation as quickly and discreetly as possible but his words aren’t having the effect she’d anticipated. She just wanted to hear his voice, the oozing sexual quality of his gravelly monotone that has the ability to send her careening over the edge no matter what he’s saying. But this is hitting too close to home, to her heart. Maybe she should have just gone with the neck creature story.

_“In our day to day lives there was no one else who challenged me the way she did. I couldn’t fathom how I’d gotten anything done before her. She pushed me further than I could ever have gone without her.”_

The tiny machine, worth every cent of whatever Mulder had spent on it, is quietly and quickly pushing her towards her abyss, so she bites her lip hard to keep quiet and tries to focus on the sound of his voice that will bring the physical release her body needs so much right now.

_“I was lost without her.”_

Her mind reaches for the science of it, the rationality of it, the part where she can be convinced of the power just the cadence and timbre of a voice can have. She tries to focus on the actual physical effect Mulder’s voice has on her.

She tries, but… his words.

His words.

_“You there, Scully?”_

“Mm-hmm..?” She thinks she sounds normal, poised? _Who cares..._

_“There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think about her. Remember how things used to be.”_

_Oh, God… don’t say that, not now…_

She’s in the zone now, her orgasm approaching quickly, and she needs it so badly she just continues to listen, even though she really doesn’t want to. His voice has some unearthly power over her and she hates that she’s doing this, she feels so fucking pathetic she could die but she has to let him make her come, she has to, or she’ll die anyway.

_“She was my truth and I fucked it up.”_

Her eyes fly open and she is coming, hard, so she slams her phone facedown into the comforter as she squeals her release, hoping beyond hope he hasn’t heard her.

Breathing heavily, she tries to focus, calming herself down as she brings the phone back up to her ear, dropping the vibrator and covering the phone with her hand. She hears nothing, and wonders if he hung up. This was so wrong, she should never have used him this way without his permission. She feels disgusted with herself.

_“Scully?”_

_Thank God._

“...Yeah?”

_“The last sentence is ‘Also, her ass is perfection.’”_

She stifles a chuckle, even though she’s quietly embarrassed, now certain he knows exactly what she’d been doing. She’s angry at herself for letting her desire get the better of her but somehow relieved to know she’s keeping her distance for a reason. She cannot control herself around him and they both know it. It would be funny if it wasn’t so damn sad.

“I think maybe you should edit that last part out.”

“ _Yeah, maybe it’s a bit much. I’ll keep it for my own private, personal… knowledge.”_

She’s quiet for a moment, and decides she’d better let him go before she can reveal anything else embarrassing. “I’d better go, Mulder. Okay?”

“ _Okay. Sweet dreams, Scully.”_

“...Mulder?”

“ _Yeah?”_

“About your chapter?”

_“...Yeah?”_

She doesn’t know what possesses her to say it. Maybe misguided gratitude for her much-needed Mulder-induced orgasm. But she says it anyway.

“I love it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then: “ _I love it, too.”_

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

She hangs up the phone and considers the events of the evening, feeling guilty, sickened, and yet somewhat comforted. One thing this evening has shown her is that for the foreseeable future there can be no one else for her. Right now, she feels as if it’s either Mulder or no one. So she quietly tucks in and prepares for a long time with no one.

She will choose loneliness again.

 


	29. First Time Again

 

**Plus One**

 

**(2018)**

 

_We’ll think of something._

Her own words ring in her ears as he looks at her and smiles. From the moment she asked him to hold her she knew this was inevitable. She’s run out of excuses to keep him at arm’s length. He is different now, _they_ are different. She can feel it it. So she lets him in.

Their lips meet in the kiss she’s waited years to have with him again, and suddenly nothing matters anymore, nothing. All she wants is to be surrounded by Mulder, wrapped in his arms like she never left.

Their kiss goes on and on and she loses all sense of time, reliving every happy memory of them as his mouth moves over hers in that familiar way it used to. She hasn’t forgotten the steps to this practiced dance of theirs and she’s relieved to be partnered with him once again.

 _Home_ , she thinks. _He feels like home._ His lips are exactly the same as they always were. She can still remember the last time they touched hers and the taste of tears floods her memory as she thinks of that face, the crying face she kissed and left behind.

Saying “I’m sorry I hurt you” won’t be enough, it can’t possibly be enough for him. She doesn’t deserve for this to be so easy.

So caught up in the feel of his lips against hers she is barely aware of his hands unbuttoning her pajama top, opening it, revealing her body to him. After what feels like blissful eternity he pulls away and she looks into his eyes, soft and warm. There’s no mystery there anymore, and it’s refreshing. All she sees is his love for her. His heart is on his sleeve.

He sits up and back to look at her. He just looks, gazing at her the way he used to before everything turned to shit.

“How can you not know how beautiful you are, Scully?” he says in a voice hitched with emotion. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”  
  
She closes her eyes and smiles, chills spreading over her entire body. She doesn’t know why she asked him that earlier, she’d been ashamed as soon as the words left her mouth. But he still looks so good to her, better than ever. It almost isn’t fair. She can't deny the raw sexual attraction she feels for him and she won’t. She hasn’t forgotten any of it. She wanted to know if he still felt it, too. It seemed like a good place to start. She’s never felt insecure or insufficient around him physically, he’d always made her feel desired in the past. But he isn’t hers anymore. She’s uncharacteristically eager for his approval.

He hovers over her, worshipping her body with his mouth, but before long her bottoms are off, her legs are up over his shoulders and his tongue is inside her. He’d always told her he enjoyed his oral attentions just as much as she did, but she knows tonight there is no contest. He’s doing this for her.

It’s been so, so long she can feel her sex quivering with gratitude. She honestly can’t remember the last time his face was in between her thighs and all she can think of is what a fucking waste every night since has been.

His strokes are long, soft, languid, like he’s testing her waters, quite literally. He’s taking his time but she’s so ready for this that her clit is throbbing and she arches not-so-subtly into his mouth.

The time for subtlety has passed.

Her body lifts up to him as his fingers gently graze the undersides of her thighs, around the curve of her ass and then with little preamble he inserts what must be at least two fingers inside her, never breaking contact between her and his eager tongue. She cries out and her hand roots for his, finding it. His own pleasure is audible as he groans and hums, his sounds echoing inside her walls, these walls that are breaking down, crashing down around her as she finally lets him back in after all this time.

As she grinds into his face she grabs the pillow next to her and squeezes it, biting her lip hard. Her toes curl and her muscles contract and _fuck, he’s still so good at this._ His teeth nip her most sensitive spot and she yelps, bringing the pillow to her face to muffle her cries, cognizant of the grief she’d given Mulder in front of the motel manager. _If she could only see us now,_ she muses.

Mulder pauses to lift the pillow off her face, suddenly appearing right next to her. She can smell her arousal on his lips and the sight of them coming closer makes her crazy with desire. All she wants is him again, filling her empty space, chasing away her godforsaken loneliness.

She grabs his face in her hands and devours him, the feel of his hair through her fingers pure bliss, his hand still administering joy down below. Why did she leave this, _how_ could she leave this, is all she can wonder. There were reasons, good reasons. She just can’t think of them at the moment.

He’s pulling away from her slowly, sucking, holding her bottom lip gently between his teeth. He pulls it taut then grins as he releases it, and she knows he’s impatient to get back to what he was doing before. She doesn’t want to stop tasting his lips but she instantly changes her mind when his hungry mouth descends upon her again. He’s ravenous and she’s powerless to his attentions.

After only a few more moments her eyes roll skyward and as she feels the arrival of her release it’s all she can do not to scream out his name to the heavens, waking up everyone in this motel, everyone in this entire tiny county.

She breathes heavily, her body shuddering, as he trails kisses softly up her stomach, to her sternum, pulling the sheet back up over her. He kisses her forehead then rests his head on her chest. She runs her hands through his hair, imagining how lucky she’d be to let him love her like this for the rest of their lives, forgetting everything that happened, forgetting all of the things that drove them apart.

_If only..._

Being in his presence again these past few months has reawakened something inside her, but not something purely sexual. And she’s felt it even more acutely since they’ve been here, on assignment. Whenever he’d close the door to his side of the motel room a wall would go up again, and for the first time in years she doesn't want that wall there anymore. The metaphor of an actual physical wall separating their sleeping bodies all week has driven that point home. She’s been slowly removing bricks for weeks. For months, even.

He is her other half, he always has been and he always will be. She could never deny they were made for each other, even in their darkest moments. Even when she left him all alone on the floor of their house and walked away, she knew exactly what she was walking away from. He loves her still, and she knows it; she’s so tired of lying to herself. She wants him to know she loves him back but this all happened so fast and she isn’t sure how ready she is for it. The last thing she wants to do is hurt him again.

She can’t say it, not yet. So instead, she says his name once more, quietly, hoping he can hear the love within it.

“Mulder.”

He rests his head against her heart in silence, and she knows he can hear it beating fast. They lay together like this for so long she thinks he might fall asleep, but she doesn’t want to let that happen because right now she wants more. More of this, more of him. It will never be enough. She’s fated to need him forever.

She isn't sure where this thing is going to go this time, and she's well aware this could be a huge mistake. But she does know her heart wants this, wants him, right now. She’s never been more certain of anything.

She doesn't want to be on the other side of the wall anymore.

She taps his shoulder blade and he lifts his head. She dangles her arms around his neck, cocking her head to the side playfully, hair splayed out across the pillow. Looking into his perfect eyes she can only think of one thing to say.

“Don’t you think for a second we’re finished,” she smirks.

She combs her fingers through his hair, twirling softly. He closes his eyes briefly, enjoying it, and when he opens them again to look into hers, their eyes communicate their desire to each other without words; this desire they've shared for years. They both knew it would come back to this, to them again, at some point. She doesn't know what her future holds but one thing is certain: he is back in it.

He grins and presses his lips to hers as she smiles widely, and she trails her fingers down his back to the waistband of his boxers. She can feel the hard muscles all the way down, hidden beneath his skin, hot and smooth. Fifty six years behind him, how is he still this fucking gorgeous? _How?_

Every surface of her skin burns with longing for his touch. He kneels over her as she pulls at his gray tank top and slips it off him, letting her eyes rest upon his chest, amazed at how different a few years’ time has rendered his body. She runs her fingers along his shoulders and collarbone, these new contours she’s seeing plainly for the first time, in the moonlight of this tiny Henrico County motel room. He’s stockier, firmer, more muscular. Older, but still unmistakably Mulder. Unmistakable in the way merely looking at him is sending electrical jolts straight to her center.

She thinks of the last time they made love before she left him, how differently he looked; how pale and withdrawn. She's tried to block that terrible time mostly from her memory, but she knows he’s changed. This is a new man before her. Her heart swells with pride.

Her body responds to his like it always did; the principle of causality in full effect, Pavlovian in nature, and she feels wetness pooling between her thighs. She hasn't had many lovers in her life but she knows no one else can make her body respond the way he can.

She pulls him close, exploring his mouth with her tongue, searching for both familiarity and newness. Her hand goes to his boxers, pulling at them, pushing them down, and he helps her out of her half-open pajama top until they are both completely bared to each other. There are no more walls anymore.

His lips move down to her neck, covering every inch. Her body shudders with anticipation of what she knows will come next, and just as she predicts, he leans down to take her nipple into his mouth.

She gasps and closes her eyes as he begins to suck, his hand moving up to her face while he does so. He expertly circles his tongue around, pulling and nipping exactly the way he knows she likes it, while tenderly caressing her cheek with his thumb. Her hand clasps his against her face and she leans into it, enraptured.

This isn’t just sex to him, and she knows that’s what he’s telling her with this touch. The love he has for her is still here, it never left. It’s maturity, growth, and she wants to believe in it, she wants to believe in him so badly.

His free hand reaches down to rub her swollen sex, his fingers finding the perfect spot, circling tightly, and she marvels at the multitude of sensations he’s creating within her. This combination of intensity and softness isn’t something she’s used to; their sex, while amazing, had typically been one way or the other.

Something is different; he seems more skilled, experienced. Reserved, but in a good way. She’s having trouble explaining or understanding why but suddenly her breath catches in her chest as she has a horrifying thought: had he lied to her last week about not sleeping with anyone else in their interim? What else could account for this change?

She suddenly feels sick to her stomach. She isn't mad at him, fuck, she deserves to feel this way. _She_ left _him._ Of course he wouldn't tell her the truth about something like this; he obviously wants her back and that particular kind of honesty is not the way to go about it.

She chokes back a small sob, bringing her hand to her mouth, and he notices. _Shit. This wasn't supposed to happen this way._

He lifts his mouth from her flesh, creating audible suction. “Hey, what's the matter? Scully?”

She has to know the truth, she has to.

“Please tell me the truth, Mulder, please…” She hates this new insecure Scully. She was never this way when they were together, and hates that she even has to question any of it. He lifts his face into view, his hand still holding her cheek, and he looks so, so concerned.

“I always will, Scully... what is it?”

She wants to believe him. She looks into his eyes and asks.

“Did you sleep with someone else while we were apart? Please, just tell me, I won’t be upset.”

She will try not to be, at least, the obvious threat of tears notwithstanding. Never before has she had to entertain the idea Mulder would choose someone else over her. His work, yes. His obsession, definitely. But another woman? Someone without their history who has the luxury of such ignorance? It would certainly be easier for him, and for this other person.

She wonders if this is why she brought it up before. Maybe she’s terrified he’d been with someone else and was fishing for information. He avoided her question and rather than be direct, she was left wondering why. The words had fallen from her mouth unbidden, something that's been happening with her a lot lately. 

She’s doing her best not to cry, not to fall apart; the thought of sharing him with someone else makes her disgusted at herself for putting them in this state of vulnerability in the first place. She released him, he had every right. It would be her fault, all her fault.

“No, no one, I told you that,” he says. He places his other hand on her cheek. “I can’t even imagine it, Scully.”

She wonders why he didn’t just say this tonight when she asked him what would happen if he ever met someone else. The only reason she can think of is fear: fear of her rejecting him yet again. Now, she understands. She’s naked in his arms, clearly wanting him. He’s not afraid anymore.

She looks up at him hovering over her, such tenderness in his expression, gently moving a strand of hair out of her face, and knows he’s telling her the truth.

“I can’t imagine it either,” she says honestly.

He shakes his head, smiling. “You and me, we’re… it’s always gonna be there, Scully. Always. I pity anyone who tries to get in the way of that.”

She reaches for him again and he helps her sit up, their eyes communicating once more what their words cannot. She doesn't want to stop their momentum but she’s overwhelmed and wraps her arms around him tightly, so tightly she worries they both might stop breathing. His hand softly touches the back of her head and he lets her cling to him. She knows he’s letting her make sure he is hers, however she needs to. She turns her head in the crook of his neck to kiss him just under his ear, and inhales deeply and contentedly.

Grounded now.

She releases him and he moves to the head of the bed, knowing what to do, just like he always has. She straddles his lap and can feel the heaviness of his desire against hers, barely touching but reaching for each other in need, this burning need they’ve both been delaying all evening.

She takes his face in her hands and his go to the small of her back, rubbing up and down softly, and she sighs, melting into his touch. She leans in again to kiss her favorite pair of lips in the world and he just sits and reciprocates, his tongue softly responding to hers, letting her love him, letting her run the show.

She reaches out to grab the back of the couch behind him, one arm on either side of his head, her nipples taut in anticipation. He lifts his hands to cup her aching breasts, and she moans into his contact, so, _so_ welcomed. She wants to weep, she's missed this so much.

Her forehead drops down gently to rest against his, and he moves his hands over and around her breasts, exploring them, looking at them intently, as if he’s never seen them before. As if he hasn’t done this thousands of times. _How does he do that?_ she wonders. _How can he make it feel like their first time this way?_

His thumbs roll over her nipples, and he moves them back and forth, around and around, and every time his thumbs leave them her hardened peaks point directly back at him. It’s as if her body is screaming at her to _look right here, look at this man, this is the man you have chosen for life._

She did choose him, a long time ago, and even though she left him she is choosing him again. She tried choosing loneliness before. She can’t do it anymore.

His hands move into her hair and after a moment she lets go of the couch to respond in kind, cradling his head against her chest, dragging her fingers along his scalp. She can feel her heart pounding and as his hands move to hold her she hears him breathe her in, listening. She closes her eyes and lives here for a minute, right here with him, her home.

Rising up onto her knees, she settles properly into his lap, nothing at all between her naked sex and her truth, which is him. It’s always been him. He tilts his head up to hers and she kisses him again in earnest, falling deeply into it, falling like she’s never fallen before.

She wraps her fingers around his length possessively, grinding against him gently. Her silken folds glide back and forth, her tiny hand stroking, stroking, but not yet giving herself the satisfaction of his entry. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s some form of self-flagellation, but in this moment she feels like she shouldn’t do this, like she doesn’t deserve him. She can’t help it. Is this really the right thing to do, regardless of her desire? Fuck if she knows. He is, and always will be, her greatest weakness.

“Scully…” he whispers, responding to her hesitation.

“I can’t…” she says, feeling the tears start up. “I want…” She doesn’t even know what she’s saying, she doesn’t know what she’s trying to communicate. All she wants is the sweet relief of him filling the emptiness she’s felt for years. She needs him to fill it, her body is aching for him.

“It’s okay, Scully,” he whispers. “It’s okay to want this. I want it, too.”

She then realizes this isn’t only torturing her; she’s torturing him as well. She doesn’t want to do that, not at all. Not anymore.

She lowers herself down onto him before she even knows what’s happening; gravity pulling her down into place, all the way down, anchoring her to him. It feels so, so right. It’s like a warm blanket around her, thick and perfect, her emptiness full of him at last, only him, the only way it could ever truly be filled.

She holds still for a moment, allowing her body to adjust to his, and she’s almost certain he’s even bigger than he was before. Scientifically, she knows it isn’t possible. Maybe it’s her; maybe she’s just missed this too much. When he is inside her she can’t remember what it felt like to be without him. All she knows is without him was awful. Nothing good would have come of that.

Here and now is good. It’s better than good; it’s perfect. She is home again.

She leans over his shoulder, clinging to him, and he runs the warmth of his hands up and down her back, so protectively. He doesn’t move yet, he waits for her. This new Mulder, the one who waits. She already loves this new Mulder, whoever he is. Maybe he’ll stick around. Maybe she can stay with him this time.

They sit this way for several moments as she absorbs him completely, and it’s as if nothing terrible ever happened between them. She leans back and takes his face in her hands, looking into his eyes. She loves him, she knows it, and nothing else could be right but being one with him now.

“Perfect…” is the only word that escapes her lips. She doesn’t remember deciding to say it but she says it anyway. He is perfect, _they_ are perfect. She doesn’t think it’s possible two human beings could fit together any better. He smiles back, and it’s all she needs.

She grinds against him slowly but purposefully, and his hands find her backside to pull, pull, pull her into him as they rock together. As she sinks down onto him again and again, sinking down, rising up, sinking down, rising up, she marvels at how quickly they fall back into this. Into sync, perfect sync. Like before.

_Before._

She tries to remember when they were happy, when all they really had was each other, relying on each other by choice. _Her_ choice. She chose to stay with him all those years, right by his side. She chose him time and time again, even when she felt he wasn’t choosing her back.

He’s choosing her right now, that’s for sure. Will he continue to do so? Is he ready for this? Is she?

_Are you ready for this, Scully?_

She knew what he was asking her all those months ago. It wasn’t just about the X files, it was never just about the X files. Was she ready for him to be back in her life? Could she accept him and move forward?

Now, she looks into the face of this new Mulder, who she knows deep down is really the same old Mulder she loves, just… improved. He was never hard to love, only hard to live with. Maybe that has improved as well.

The creaky pull-out couch is rocking, rocking, banging up against the wall. Picture frames are slapping and the nightstand is wobbling. Mulder is grunting and she is moaning and all of it is driving her closer and closer and closer to the inevitable when

 

_**riiiiiiiiing**_

 

The phone is ringing and there’s only one person it could be, only one reason anyone could be calling right now. But she doesn’t want to stop fucking him for anything.

“Don’t… don’t answer it, Mulder…” she breathes, her head tilting back, her eyes half lidded.

He doesn’t say a word, just leans in and keeps kissing, licking the sweat off her chest, tasting her, obliging her. Neither of them care about the phone ringing or guest complaints or the manager or anything else. Whoever it is doesn’t understand how important the sex going on in this room is, how meaningful, how life-altering. If they knew, they’d leave them the hell alone.

She rides him and rides him and just as she thinks she could ride him off into the sunset if she wanted to, the phone rings again.

She opens her eyes slowly, looking at him, and this feels significant. Something is trying to stop them, trying to get in the way. But Mulder is still looking right into her eyes. He looks as if his eyes are saying _I see you, Scully, I see you._ He doesn’t tear them away from her and she knows in this moment she is the only thing he sees. It’s all she’s ever wanted.

“Shhhhh,” she hears him say.

He’s right, maybe if they get quiet the phone calls will stop. She slows down her rocking, a merciful break. They aren’t as young as they used to be. She leans over his shoulder to take his earlobe into her mouth, then hears him answer the phone.

“Hello?”

Her eyes fly open and she releases his ear, sitting back quickly, looking him right in the eye. He holds her by the waist and continues meeting her thrusts, his eyes never leaving hers. There’s an extended pause while he listens, and she just keeps quietly fucking him because nothing on God’s green earth could make her stop, much less a phone call.

“I apologize, we’ll try to keep it down. Yes, thank you.”

He slams the phone down and she meets his eyes again, incredulous, as he leans into her, crushing her lips with his own. No one tells Fox Mulder what to do, or when to be quiet. She smiles with the knowledge that the Mulder she knew is definitely still in there somewhere.

_This is how I like my Mulder._

With one quick motion he springs up, laying her down on her back, never breaking their connection. The bed sags and creaks. It’s fine with her. She wants him on top. She’s dying to know how this new Mulder is on top.

She takes his face in her hands and kisses him again and again, never wanting to stop, never wanting this to end. When it’s over they’ll have to figure out how to move forward and she isn’t sure how they’re going to do that.

She moves her arms around his neck again as he continues pumping slowly, almost tortuously. The torment is sweet and she’s living for it. He brings her hands down and pushes them into the mattress behind her, interlocking their fingers together. Their chests are pressed together and his tongue practically assaults her mouth. Her legs wrap around his waist and suddenly he’s hitting her walls at a new angle. A good angle.

A _really_ good angle.

Her arms around his neck, she starts to moan again into his ear and he takes her cue, pumping into her with abandon. She can feel every inch of him entering and exiting her body over and over, still so hard, rock hard. She’s amazed at his stamina. It feels so fucking good she doesn’t even care who hears anymore.

“So… good… Mulder…”

He leans down and speaks into her ear. “I’m here, I’m here, Scully… let me hear you…”

She arches her body up into his, meeting every thrust. She’s so tired, but the exhaustion is divine. It’s been so long since she’s been fucked like this she cries out his name, God’s name, all kinds of things she’s missed screaming out.

“ _Yes_ … Mulder… god… _Mulderrrrr_...”

She thinks she’s just saying it but she’s probably screaming it. He’s looking directly at her and whispering “ _ScullyScullyScullyScully_ …” and she knows when he whispers her name like that he’s telling her “I love you” in his own way, that way they had to before they were honest with each other.

Is he afraid to tell her? And if so, of what? Her reaction? Their future? Getting hurt again?

She squeezes her eyes shut, again remembering his face when she left him, and chides herself _do not cry, do not cry, do not ruin this, you fuck…_

She doesn’t want to think anymore. She only wants him to fuck her into oblivion so she doesn’t have to remember how much she hurt him.

“I’m so close, Scully…” he breathes into her ear. “Stay with me…”

She wants to see his face when he comes, she’s missed it too much. She rocks her hips against him, meeting his thrusts. She can feel her own climax on the horizon, approaching faster and faster, and knows he’s waiting for her.

New Mulder always waits.

“Speak to me, Mulder…” She knows when she’s close, his voice usually does the trick.

“I miss you, Scully… I miss this so much… I think about this all the time, every single night…”

He’s looking into her eyes and she sees the truth, his truth. Her hips buck wildly beneath him and hearing these words, knowing how much he missed her, how long he’s been waiting to feel her touch and finally having it again sends her over the edge. She digs her fingernails into his shoulders deeply and screams out, much louder than she should.

“... _M-Mulder!”_

They look into each other’s eyes, seeing each other’s pleasure. His warmth fills her completely and she locks her ankles around him, her arms around his shoulders, his weight collapsing on top of her. He tries to move but she doesn’t let him, just holds him tightly, not wanting this to end. She imagines his essence set free inside her once again, blindly seeking a goal that doesn’t exist, and her mind idly drifts to the children she can never give him.

Last night she’d finally admitted to him she had wanted more children all this time and never said anything. She’s filled with regret once again at her own shitty communication skills, and doesn’t even blame him, not one bit, for never bringing up such a topic.

He was right, she’s a woman of science. They should have talked about it, figured it out. It may not have fixed what was broken but it would have been an important step for them to take, an important step towards the honesty they needed.

For now, she cannot persist in her regret. That journey is truly at an end for her, and the sooner she can accept that, the sooner she can figure out where she’s going. Where _they_ can go together.

He rolls her over to the side and holds her close, kissing the sweat on her brow, repeating over and over “Stay, Scully… stay. Stay with me.”

_Stay._

If only she’d stayed.

“I’m not leaving, Mulder,” she whispers back. It’s something she can give him, the truth.

As they lay entwined, sweat and fulfilled desire drenching their bodies, there’s a knock at the door.

“Goddamnit,” Mulder seethes. He kisses her softly and then rolls away from her much sooner than she’d like, pulling on his tank top and boxers, and goes around the corner to get the door.

“Yes?”

She hears the bedraggled voice of the manager. “Look, I get that you two are FBI agents, and these cases probably make your hours a little different than the rest of us, but could you _please_ try to keep it down?”

“Sorry, yeah. We’ll be quiet now.”

She hears the manager depart and sighs, the exhaustion of the evening and their lack of sleep finally getting the best of her. She wonders briefly if she should get back into her own bed, if she’s welcome here the way she wants to be. But he crawls back into the tiny couch bed next to her, the creaking noises a comfort at this point. He lies flat on his back as she gets under the sheets. She folds her body into his like muscle memory, snuggling into this warmth she’s missed so much, the sheet pulled up to her neck, her chin on his shoulder, her breath in his ear. He kisses her forehead, they exchange no more words and in minutes are both fast asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more (post NLF) chapter in this story but it may not be up for a couple weeks. In the meantime, if you haven’t, please read [Chapter 19 of Culmination ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34514439) To get fully “caught up.” Thanks for reading!


	30. First Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her lips curve into the smile that gives him life. And every word that escapes his own lips makes him feel better. They are finally, finally talking, having a conversation that began in that church, a flame they started together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t read it, [chapter 19 of Culmination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34514439) is helpful to have some information referred to in this chapter.

 

 

 

**(2018)**

 

_“Take me home, Mulder.”_

They’re the words he’s waited to hear her say for years, the words that mean it’s her choice, finally, to come home. Not because her name is still on the deed. Not because they’re technically still married. And not because her fireplace exploded, rendering her own place inhabitable. Just as he stood next to her in that church and told her he’s choosing her, she’s choosing him.

The rain softly patters on the windows as the silver Mustang winds its way down the long dirt path, towards home. _Their_ home. Mulder holds the wheel with one hand and Scully’s hand with the other and he can’t help but notice she won’t take her eyes off him.

“ _Quatloo_ for your thoughts?” he asks.

“My thoughts?” she asks, rolling her eyes at the reference. “They’re on you. Always on you.”

“Always?”

“Well, most of the time.” She squeezes his hand. “Especially lately. What happened to you, Mulder?”

“What do you mean?” It’s so refreshing, to be able to ask her what she means and know, _know,_ she will answer. She will tell him everything. The time for holding back is over. Things are different this time.

 “I _mean,”_ she begins, “you’re so different. And yet, you’re still you. It’s hard to explain.”

He hasn’t changed, not really, but he knows what she means. He’s found himself again and done some prioritizing. Maybe it’s because he finally realized his search would go on forever if he didn’t accept its endlessness. Maybe it’s because she broke his heart. Or maybe it’s just getting older that really did it. But he knew the Mulder she left behind was not the Mulder she wanted, and it wasn’t the Mulder _he_ wanted to be.

“I guess… I grew up a little bit. Who knew?”

She grins and holds his hand tighter as they pull up to the house. As they walk up the porch steps and go inside, he allows a feeling to wash over him he hasn’t been able to in a while: utter contentment. They are finally home.

Scully hangs their coats on the rack like she used to. He goes to the kitchen and brews a pot of coffee like he used to. Everything falls back into place, the way it used to be. The rain taps against the kitchen windows and the clock in the living room ticks along comfortably.

Opening the cupboard, he pulls out two mugs: one plain red one and the alien head mug she gave him for his birthday long ago. _To make up for the one I broke,_ she’d told him. He obviously never forgot how she broke it, all those years ago when he went down on her for the first time on the basement office desk. It had become his go-to mug ever since, for obvious reasons. He sets two cups of coffee on their table and sits across from her.

“I’m so happy you’re home,” he says, hardly able to contain his joy.

She smiles and takes his hand, but there is a wistful look in her eyes. “I still can’t believe you never gave up on me, Mulder. And I was so cold to you at times.”

“Well, the fool who persists in his folly will become wise.”

“William Blake?”

“Is there _anything_ you don’t know, Scully?”

She smiles. “I should’ve let you have that one. But persist, you did.”

He shakes his head. “I knew I needed to figure it all out. What happened. How we fell apart.”

“And did you?” she asks. Her eyes dart to the table as she takes a sip, as if it’s not a topic she really wants to revisit. He hesitates, but then her eyes return to his, ready and willing to talk.

“I think… I lost sight of you, Scully. And not just before you left. A long time ago.”

Her eyes are soft and warm. She sips her coffee and listens.

“I always felt like I didn’t deserve you. Even at the beginning. My whole life I’ve been comfortable a step behind, not really caring what others thought of me. But you came along and I started caring. I think that’s why it took me so long to make a move, why I kept you at arm’s length. And then when you chose me, you actually chose to be with me... I just… I think I just couldn’t believe it.”

“But… you were happy, Mulder. Weren’t you?” She looks genuinely sad. “Weren’t we happy?”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes lock onto hers. “Scully, you made me happier than I ever thought I could be. More than I thought I deserved. And I think some dark place inside me refused to believe it. It was that dark place that kept pulling me away, back under, until I finally let it drown me.”

“And then I left.”

“And then you left,” he says, nodding. “And I figured the only way to get you back was to convince myself I _deserved_ you back.”

She smiles sadly. “You always deserved me, Mulder. I hate to think I ever made you feel that way.”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t you, it was me,” he assures her. “It was only me. I was a fucking mess, Scully. When you left, it gave me a reason to clean up.”

She looks around the messy house and raises an eyebrow. “It did, did it?”

“Well, one thing at a time,” he chuckles. “Eventually I learned to forgive myself. And when that happened I thought maybe you could forgive me, too.” He squeezes her hand across the table. “I got so wrapped up in my own head, in this fight that I created there. The X files, the cancer man. Aliens and UFOs. Krycek. Kersh. Our government. Everything. All these fights I manufactured in my mind. When it should have been us I was fighting for all along.”

Her lips curve into the smile that gives him life. And every word that escapes his own lips makes him feel better. They are finally, _finally_ talking, having a conversation that began in that church, a flame they started together.

“I should have let you in, though. I’m culpable, Mulder.” Her eyes don’t leave his. “I avoided talking about things we should have been able to discuss. I was afraid. And for that I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been grieving our son by yourself, Scully. I feel terrible I let you do that.”

He can feel tears threatening to fall, the uncertainty of the fate of their missing son at the forefront of his mind. Their eyes meet in understanding and she shakes her head. 

“Mulder.” Her voice is stern, but kind. “Come with me.”

She sets the coffee down and stands up. She takes him by the hand and leads him upstairs, and at first he isn’t sure where she’s taking him but then they stop in front of the closed door to the second bedroom. _The door._ The one that never opened.

“I think I know why we’ve kept this door closed, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

She turns the knob and pushes it open, and they walk in. It’s empty, with only some scraps of paper on the floor. A thin layer of dust coats the hardwood, unsettled by their entry, disturbed. Bits of dust swirl at their feet. He squeezes her hand and she leans into him.

“Every day, Mulder. Every day I’d walk by this room and think of him. The life we all could have had together.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” He knows it’s a ridiculous question, since he never let her in on his own regret either. But now is the time.

She shrugs. “I felt guilty. Guilty for being so happy with you. Knowing you were probably hurting too but not having the courage to ask. Terrified you resented me for the choice I made.”

He nods, remembering the conversation they’d only had a couple evenings ago, when they’d laid out all their fears and doubts about William. When they’d finally begun talking, really talking.

“I know what you mean.” He sighs, the truth spilling out like it never has before. “But I felt guilty whenever I _didn’t_ think about him. It’s not that I tried to forget, I just… I think I wanted to forget. I wanted to pretend I was enough for you.”

She turns to hug him tightly. He exhales, feeling such a relief this is out in the open. He finally feels like no topic is verboten between them anymore.

“I wonder where he is right now.”

She sighs into his chest. “Knowing he’s alive, and out there somewhere… I don’t know, Mulder. I’ve been feeling this sense of calm come over me ever since that rest stop.”

He holds her close, grateful she seems to be getting to a place where she can find some peace.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you in sooner,” she says softly.

“And I’m sorry, Scully. I’m sorry I lost sight of you. I promise it will never happen again. Ever.”

She looks up at him. “I don’t want to spend any more time today on regrets, okay?”

He nods and plants a quick kiss on her forehead. “Okay.”

They gaze at one another quietly, apologies accepted, forgiveness given, love steadfast. Suddenly a noise comes from the living room.

*scratch scratch*

Scully furrows her brow. “Oh god, Mulder, tell me we don’t have mice.”

Mulder looks confused for a moment and releases her hands, heading down the stairs. “...What the…?”

*scratch scratch*

He scans the living room, not sure exactly what the source of the noise is. But then his eyes stop at the screen door and a familiar bark echoes through the house.

“Daggoo?!”

Mulder tears across the room towards the little dog, who leaps through the torn screen and bounds into his arms, licking and barking.

“What?!” Scully kneels down next to them, smiling from ear to ear. “Are you kidding me?!”

“How, Scully?” Mulder laughs. “How is this possible?!” Daggoo’s little tail wags wildly, soaked from the rain, spraying water everywhere. Scully scratches him behind his ears and Mulder cannot believe his eyes. He’d written his furry friend off when he ran away from home months ago. For him to return today, of all days…

“Mulder,” Scully says, very seriously. “You don’t think…?”

He shakes his head incredulously. “...That our dog waited until we got our shit together before he came home? Absolutely I do.”

Daggoo stops licking Mulder’s face and leaps out of his arms, running around the house like a nut from room to room, barking happily, reacquainting himself with home.

“He came back, Scully. I don’t believe it.” Mulder just kneels in the middle of the room, scratching his head. “I… I have a dog again.”

“ _We_ have a dog again,” she corrects, and he grins, standing up. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the dog coming home stole my thunder,” she laughs.

“Never,” he growls, scooping her up, throwing her tiny body over his shoulder and heading upstairs.

“Wait, we need to go buy doggy stuff, Mulder,” she giggles upside down.

“No. He can wait. I waited for years. First things first,” he replies, slapping her backside.

He carries her into their room and they fall onto the bed laughing. He holds her close to him, more precious than anything in his life, kissing her face as they strip off their clothing piece by piece. Soon they are both completely naked, holding each other, the rain picking up outside, heavy against the windows.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” she says, releasing the bottom lip she’d been sucking on.

“Uh… if the dog is in here somewhere watching?”

“No,” she laughs. “Our first time.”

The images come forth, summoned instantly by his photographic memory. His old apartment with the bed that creaked even though it was new. The sheets that smelled like Scully every day after that first time, no matter how many times he washed them. The rain and wind that pounded against his bedroom window. How she looked and felt and tasted; better than even his wildest dreams.

Most of all, how sure he’d been that he was in love with her even then. How he felt that everything came together that night, and yet it was still only the beginning of their journey.

“I remember.” He pulls her close, their heads next to each other on the pillow, his legs entwining with hers. “I’ll never forget that night.”

“God, I fucking loved you,” she says, her hand on his face. “Your passion, your devotion. Everything about you. I remember how I felt that night so clearly.”

“You?” he laughs. “What about me? You were so smart, and unbelievably fierce. Not to mention drop dead gorgeous. I think you might have scared me into loving you.” She laughs and lets out a breathy sigh, and she sounds so content, so grounded. He couldn’t ask for anything more. “I never even stood a chance.”

“No, you didn’t,” she grins.

He leans into her and kisses her lips, soft, rosy, perfect. This kiss would stop the world spinning if such a thing were possible. He tastes her like he’s never tasted her before, appreciating every second, knowing everything is real, and new, but still somehow the same.

Perfect.

“I love you, Mulder,” she says as she kisses him.

"I never stopped,” he says back, pushing her hair away from her forehead, sinking into her even deeper. She pulls away from their kiss and straddles him, looking down at him with those eyes that make his breath catch in his chest.

“I’ve missed you so much. You have no idea how much,” she says.

He thinks he has some idea. He’s never been more ready for this. He’s been ready since they left that church. He’s been ready since Henrico County. He’s been ready since their eyes first met in the basement all those years ago. 

She grins and he pulls her close by her hips as she settles on top of him. She closes her eyes and leans down to touch her forehead to his, and he folds his arms around her back, pulling her close. They need no more words.

She rises up onto her knees and sinks down onto him all the way, closing her eyes and sighing, such a relief to be back together, here in their own bed, as one again.

She grins, leaning down to capture his lips in her own, their tongues dancing again, their bodies moving in tandem like they used to. Their chests brush together and he shivers at the contact, glorious and familiar. She sits up and takes his hands, covering her breasts with them, encouraging his touch. He palms them softly with reverence at first, but then with more urgency, rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and she gasps. He rolls them harder and she cries out his name, and he knows he’s doing something right.

She leans over him and gyrates her hips faster, taking his lips in hers again, her hands in his hair. He lets her do whatever she wants because it’s always good for him, always. If she’s here, he’s satisfied.

The rain pounds against the windows and he flashes again to the first night they were together, all those feelings so vivid in his memory, how lucky he felt, how happy and complete. And here they are, eighteen years later, and everything feels so right. It’s almost like it was way back then, when she ran to him in his bedroom. No words, just bodies and energy and heat and love. 

Her hands clasp his face and she comes, hard, collapsing on top of him. He can tell he’s close, and she senses it too, pulling him over on top of her. With a final few thrusts he is finished and lays beside her, pulling her in next to him. They are back where they belong.

He has no more hang-ups. He has no more fears, no more doubts. She is his and he is hers. He can believe it, finally.

Mulder pulls the Navajo blanket over them, which had been living on the bed for several months now. He doesn’t mention he’s kept it here because it still smells like her. That tidbit he’ll save for another day.

As if on cue, Daggoo barks and hops up onto the bed, trying to get between them. Scully laughs as Mulder gently urges him off the bed.

“He used to have manners,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“I remember,” she smiles. “Where do you think he’s been this whole time, Mulder?”

He wonders. The night Daggoo left him is a night he hadn’t forgotten. He and Scully had been slowly rebuilding their friendship but his loneliness had been tangible. He’d come home to find his dog had vanished, and Scully had arrived to comfort him. They'd both admitted how lonely they’d been, and he pinpointed that night as the first night they really started coming back to each other. The timing of Daggoo’s return couldn’t possibly be a coincidence, could it?

_If coincidences are just coincidences, why do they feel so contrived?_

Maybe he’d embarked on a quest for the truth of his own only to discover, just like Mulder did, he’d had it here at home all along?

“I couldn’t say, Scully,” he answers honestly. As much as he doesn’t want to believe the dog has some magical power, some supernatural connection to the two of them, what else could account for this?

“Must be an X file,” she grins, snuggling into him, reading his mind.

“Hey Scully,” he says mischievously. “Wanna call in sick tomorrow?”

“You? Call in sick?” She holds her hand to his forehead. “I may need to check you for head trauma.”

“I’m serious. We’ve earned it. Let’s spend the day in bed. Just you and me.”

Daggoo barks.

“...and... Daggoo, apparently.”

“That sounds perfect.”

They lay together for many minutes, breathing in sync, enjoying the calm. The rain slows, tapping on their skylight. She’s in his arms but he looks up, above them, to the sky. To their future.

“I want to take you somewhere right now,” he says. “Let’s get up.”

He kisses the top of her head and slides away from her, out of bed. “Mulderrrr, it’s raining. Can’t we just stay here? It’s so warm and cozy.”

“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.”

She sighs and slowly gets up. She trusts him. He knows she does.

 

***

 

It's cold and rainy but he's determined, it seems. He takes her by the hand and leads her out onto the lawn, up towards the Washington Monument, this place that holds such sentiment for them. She hasn't been here in years, certainly not since she left him. It would have been impossible.

The grass squishes beneath her shoes, and she's glad she wore boots today. After a minute he stops and faces her, holding her hand and the umbrella over them with his other. He leans down to kiss her and she softly touches his cheek, smiling as he pulls away and regards her.

”What are we doing out here, Mulder?” she asks, although she has a sneaking suspicion. “It’s cold and it’s wet.”

”I haven't forgotten, Scully, what this place means to us. But I think it has a different meaning now. Do you remember what I told you on our first date?”

She nods. ”You said there would be times when our work would force us back into action, times when we'd have to choose each other second.”

At the time, it had been true. Things were so new for them, they were both focused on making sure the X files didn't suffer, that _they_ wouldn't suffer on account of their new dynamic, the shift that had rocked both of their worlds. But now that all seems so far away in her mind. She feels differently about everything, and she knows he does too.

”I did say that, and I meant it at the time,” he admits. “But I was young, and reckless, and foolish, Scully. I don’t think that way anymore. And I want this place,” he looks around them, “to signify how I feel now. Because like you said, this is about a leap of faith forward for both of us.”

She grins and nods again, letting him do his thing.

“It seems silly to ask you to marry me, since technically we never stopped being married,” he points out, and she chuckles a bit, looking at the grass. “But I do want to give you something, Scully.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny box. She knows instantly what it must be but in spite of that, in spite of everything they’ve unpacked, everything they’ve been through in the past few hours alone, she gasps, amazed at his thoughtfulness once again.

He opens the box and it’s a small ring, white gold maybe, or platinum. Set in the middle is an unusual stone, pale blue and smooth, perfectly circular.

“Mulder…” she breathes. He lets go of the umbrella, which settles over his shoulder, takes the ring out of the box and holds it.

“I know you said you didn’t want a ring, but that was then. This is now.”

She grins. She did say that back then, but she’s not going to put up a fight.

“It’s a moonstone. I had it made the week after Henrico County.”

Her eyes narrow and she smirks. “A week? Isn’t that a little presumptuous, Mulder?”

“Not at all. The sex was _that_ good,” he says very seriously. She laughs.

“I knew you’d figure out the real reason I came back,” she smirks.

“Not the reason,” he shakes his head. “Just an excuse.” She smiles back at him and nods, knowingly.

“It’s beautiful. Why a moonstone?” she asks, knowing there must be a story.

“Well, now I’m gonna get mushy on you, Scully, so bear with me,” he says, his voice deepening. A chill goes down her spine. “When I was a kid, you know I dreamt of being an astronaut. The moon was so important to me. It was as if it was just… out there for the taking, if only I could get there. It kind of feels like a symbol of my search.” He takes both her hands in his, standing close, the umbrella a cozy cocoon around them.

“And it took me a long time to get here, Scully, but I need you to know that the search stops here and now, with you.”

She closes her eyes and lets it in. Their truth has finally arrived. He’s choosing her for good, and for the first time she believes it.

“And it’s blue, too,” she says quietly.

He tilts his head in question.

"The pale blue dot,” she explains. She thinks she might be blushing a little. “It’s nothing, just… I remember when you said that the night after you proposed. It made me think of that when I saw it.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Always one-upping me, aren't you, Scully?”

"No, I didn’t mean-“

He stops her with a kiss, and pulling away slowly he looks into her eyes. “You’re right. The pale blue dot. That’s you, for me. Always.”

She smiles back and holds her hand out, and he starts to put the ring on her finger but it’s too small.

“Shit. I had to guess. I must have miscalculated.”

She laughs and puts the ring on her pinky, for now. “Easily fixable, Mulder.”

“I’m sorry we weren’t. So easily.”

She shakes her head. “I meant what I said before. I want to remember how it all was.” She holds his face, the ring on her pinky glistening. “I’d do it all over again. Truly.”

He grins and she pulls him in again, thanking him wordlessly, her lips pressed against his with certainty, finality. The umbrella blows off them and he moves to retrieve it but she holds firm. They will get wet, and she doesn’t care.

He brings both hands to her face, deepening the kiss, and after a few moments she is laughing, smiling, and crying all at once. Soon, he joins her, holding their foreheads together, standing in the rain and the mud and she remembers another time, long ago, just like this. She looks into his eyes like she did back then and they still look exactly the same, they are really exactly the same, only now she knows everything is truly perfect.

For the first time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some readers were genuinely upset about [Daggoo running away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748734/chapters/34462434) (seriously, I felt like Chris Carter there), and what is fan fiction for except to right wrongs?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story. Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.
> 
> (For further reading, [Mindblown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326484/chapters/35559357) takes place directly after this story)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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